


Path to Happiness

by AriesOrion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Mistress of Death!fem!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriesOrion/pseuds/AriesOrion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'For all she has given me, I can give her that in return.' Azaela Grace Potter made a deal, in exchange for her soul. And from that moment on, everything changes. What will change if the Savior of the Wizarding World met Dean Winchester during his stay in Hell, and gets sent to help Team Free Will by God himself? The balance will tip, but in whose favor? Gabriel/OC (Azaela)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Meetings

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Supernatural or any of the characters

I don't make any money or other kind of profit out of it except for knowing that people read what I write

 

Chapter 1 - Meetings

Azaela Grace Potter had been surrounded by death from her infancy on. Born during a time of war to a young couple fighting against a Dark Lord, blessed and cursed with a prophecy when she was only a few months old, forced to hide with her parents in a small cottage away from danger, the little baby's life could not be called safe.

Her parents were ripped away from the young child when the Dark Lord stormed the little cottage in the small village called Godric's Hollow, due to the betrayal of one they had called a friend. At the young age of one and a half a Dark Lord had tried to murder little Azaela Potter with a curse designed to kill, yet her soul had prevailed, for it was a truly beautiful and pure soul, not tainted by any previous sins.

It was a soul that would endure and stay strong, one of those rare, impossibly rare souls that God himself favored, because they were his pride and joy, souls that would go on and shape the world.

As long as she could remember Azaela had always found comfort in the darkness. Her small room, the cupboard under the stairs, her intended prison had become a sanctuary of sorts for the nine-year old child. She felt protected whenever she would curl up under her ratty and thin blanket, the colour black soothing and muting all the noise around her.

She did not hate her relatives, the warmth inside her could tell that somehow they were afraid, and she had once heard the pastor say that fear makes people do things they normally wouldn't. She liked the church, even though it was always bright and full of people and noise there was something equally soothing all around her. Pastor Jefferson had said that God watched over everyone, since he had created us humans. For little Azaela Potter whose biggest dream and desire was to be loved and give someone her love in return, the presence of someone watching over her gave her hope.

After all she did not have a father, and Pastor Jefferson called him father, so if God was everyone's father then he was also her's. Such was little Azaela's logic.

It was a cold and lonely October evening when Azaela Potter went into the church alone for the first time. Her family had not even wished her a happy birthday, instead she had to do even more chores and her cousin pushed her around even harder, so as soon as she was finished she ran into the direction of the church, struggling to open the tall wooden door to gain entrance.

The little nine-year old gazed around the empty church in wonder, craning her neck to take everything in. She wasn't allowed to fall behind when she was here with her family, so she had never had the time to take everything in properly.

Stopping at the front row, she sat down on one of the wooden benches, feet dangling back and forth. Closing her eyes she concentrated on the warm feeling inside of her, trying to draw courage from the only tangible comfort she had ever known.

The Pastor said that you are watching over us... do you... do you think that someday someone will love me? I want to know what it feels like to love and be loved.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes, gazing at the crucified form of Jesus that was displayed at the front of the church, and absent mindedly wondered if he had been happy even though the Pastor said that he went through a lot of pain.

''What are you doing here so late, little one?''

Azaela jumped, startled at the unexpected sound, before she turned her head towards where the noise came from. A man was sitting casually next to her on the wooden bench, probably around her aunt's age although she always found it hard to tell, wearing a blinding white shirt, and black pants. Azaela was about to bolt when she noticed the warmth inside of her heat up even more, singing in happiness and remembrance. She could trust this person.

''Who are you, mister?'' Azaela asked instead, after all even she knew that she wasn't supposed to talk with strangers.

The man seemed to be smiling at her, though Azaela thought it looked a little sad. ''That's a good question, does it matter?''

''I suppose not.'' she reluctantly answered, she had always trusted in the warmth, so she wouldn't stop now.

''Now then, Azaela Grace Potter,'' he ruffled her hair gently, making her pause in surprise because no one had ever done that, ''what were you praying for?''

She blushed, concentrating her eyes on her feet not used to such a kind gaze directed at her. ''Nothing.''

''You're not supposed to lie.'' the man chided her softly, warm brown eyes still full of kindness and compassion.

''Do you- do you think that everyone deserves to be loved?'' she murmured, having drawn her knees up the bench to hide her vulnerability.

''Of course, especially someone like you.''

Her head whipped towards the direction where the strange man was sitting, and she sensed no sign of a lie. ''I...'' she twirled a strand of her raven hair nervously with one hand. ''I want to be loved.''

He hummed, and she saw him gaze up at the statue of Jesus. ''Would you, child, choose a content life, riddled with burdens but never too much, or would you choose a life that would include pain and darkness, but would eventually after many years result in happiness?''

Azalea frowned, trying to understand what this strange man was asking her. ''I want to know what love feels like, so if the happiness means love then I want that.''

Something flittered through the strange man's eyes, an emotion that she had seen other people direct at children. It made her feel warm, like the warmth inside her did. ''And that is why I said you deserve to be loved, child. However walking a path like that is not easy.''

Azaela nodded, trying to understand this strange man, and his difficult words and their meanings. She yawned when she suddenly noticed how tired she was. It was already close to nine in the evening and she had spent the whole day doing chores.

''Tired? Very well, sleep child.'' only moments after the man spoke, Azaela felt her eyelids dropping suddenly, guided by a strong arm, she leaned against the man's side, somehow feeling safer than she had ever done before.

''Happy Birthday, little one.''

She smiled contentedly, as her eyes finally slid shut and she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Azaela Grace Potter would never forget that meeting, would imagine those kind brown eyes and certainty when he told her that she also deserved to be loved, and endured. But it was only many many years later that she would think back on another part of that meeting and of the figure of Jesus bleeding on the cross.

The path to happiness is paved with thorns, and spikes, and sometimes sacrifices must be made.


	2. Endless rain

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Supernatural or any of the characters

 

Chapter 2 - Endless rain

The endless rain pounded against the window of the small cottage Azaela was staying in, creating a constant background noise that was a mixture of soothing and irritating. She knew that if she were to look up, she would be able to see the monotonous grey sky, the dark clouds hovering threateningly over the small piece of land she owned in the south of Scotland. It had been a little more than a week since she had retreated into the small house that she had inherited upon becoming Lady Potter-Black once she reached the age of 17, her magical maturity.

She had inherited everything from her Godfather, when he had died by Bellatrix Lestrange's hand in the Department of Mysteries. The weather had been similar afterwards back then, an unforgiving and cold rain, as if heaven itself was weeping alongside her.

Fingering her Head of House rings absently, she sighed, sinking further into the dark armchair she was currently occupying. Her time was running out and fast. The growls and howls got louder every day, haunting her dreams and even her thoughts during the day. It had been close to a year after all, and her side of the deal was soon coming to chase her, rip her to pieces and drag her to hell.

She had made a deal with a demon after all.

Azaela was running, screams and the smell of blood and destruction tainting the air all around her. The Battle of Hogwarts, their last stand against Tom Marvalo Riddle, had reached it's climax. She cursed silently when she had to dodge several green streams of light, dancing out of the way elegantly, before she flickered her trusted Holly Wand behind her.

''Diffindio.''

She continued running in the direction she knew Lord Voldemort was at, not even pausing when she heard the pained grunts of the Death eaters she had hit behind her.

''Tom.'' She slowed until she was merely walking calmly towards the smirking Dark Lord, who was seemingly waiting for her.

''Potter, now die!'' He raised his wand, red eyes glittering maliciously. ''Avada Kedavra.'' A green curse was flying towards her, not even pausing she stepped to the side, raising her own wand, ''Sectumsempra.''

The two curses met in the middle, fighting for dominance, and Azaela closed her eyes, knowing what she had to do in order to end this war, to grant her friends a peaceful and long life.

She stopped her magic from flowing to her wand, and closed her eyes. She could feel the impact, sense herself falling towards the ground, downdowndown.

Suddenly she felt a spark of pain in her chest, a moment of seering agony, before it was gone yet again. Azaela ripped her eyes open, feeling the cold ground beneath her, before she threw herself up in one fluid motion.

''Sectumsempra.''

Voldemort screamed, blood flowing down his falling body, eyes wide in horror and disbelief, before he slumped on the ground, motionless and eyes dull in death.

Azaela was panting, tired and exhausted beyond belief as she took in the stunned silence all around her, the battlefield having gone completely still as they looked at the fallen body of the Dark Lord.

The next minutes were a blur of voices and hands, and hugs and colours for Azaela, as she was pushed and prodded and congratulated, and questioned. The only thing that pulled her out of her haze because she had done it, defeated the Dark Lord, done her duty and could live again was the body of her best friend Hermione Granger, being cradled in the arms of her other friend Ron Weasley. She could see the faint up and downs of her chest, but the trained healer in her (she had studied the books of her mother) could see that it was fatal and she probably wouldn't survive the night.

And with that revelation, her world came crashing down.

Azaela could still remember that moment clearly, even a year later, the helplessness, the horror and the grief that ripped her out of the comfortable numbness she had been after she had managed to defeat the Dark Lord. She could still remember the thoughts and the ideas swirling and pounding in her head, and whatshouldIdo?

She had run into Grimauld Place, ignoring the questioning shouts of her friends, and poured over the Black Library like a madwoman, intent on finding anything that could help the one person that had always been beside her since she had boarded the train when she was still eleven years old, small and shy and so painfully insecure.

Hermione had always supported and believed her, not like Ron who while a decent friend could still be a jealous git or the Weasley's who never took the time to actually understand her, Hermione was family in the way not even Sirius was, who had died to early to form such a bond, taunting the cousin that had killed him.

There wasn't anything that she would not do to help her sister in all but blood, so she had searched and searched and finally finally found something that would help.

Azaela grinned humorlessly, all teeth and no joy as she contemplated on what she had done after she had found an old book on demons in the Black Library.

Yet, she didn't regret a single damn thing.

She waved her wand, watching the small hole that formed in the ground of the crossroad she was at. It was only dawn, the sun not having risen yet, and she was wearing a long black coat she had bought together with Hermione in Muggle London.

Not letting her grief show, Azaela carefully lowered the plastic case with her photograph, graveyard dirt, a black cat bone, and yarrow at the center of the crossroad, and with a careless flick of her wrist finished burying the container.

She had been able to do wandless magic since the final battle, and though she would have loved to study that phenomena more, she first had so save her friend.

She tensed almost unnoticeably, when she felt the foul energy flickering into life behind her. Making her expression carefully blank, only a slight and polite smile on her face, she turned around, taking in the man that had soundlessly appeared behind her.

''Morning.'' she greeted the dark-haired male, who was dressed in a fancy black suit, looking more like a businessman than a demon.

She could see him scrutinizing her, his surprise at her polite greeting not hidden quickly enough.

''Indeed good morning, luv. It has been a while since I have seen one of your kind.'' he mused, eyes focused intently on her.

''The knowledge of your kind is rather well-hidden.'' Azaela answered the unspoken question, her magic pulsing inside her in case she had to defend herself.

The demon nodded thoughtfully, walking closer, until there were only a few feet between them.

''Crowley, pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you?''

Azaela concentrated on what her magic was telling her, one pulse, it was alright to continue then. She had always relied on her magic, since she was small and only knew it as a strange kind of warmth inside her that would comfort her, warn her, and teach her. She had always known when someone was trying to hurt her, or lied. It was why she had survived so long after all.

''I want you to heal someone from the brink of death. Do we have a deal, Crowley?'' she asked.

The demon stared at her for a moment, before he smirked amusedly. ''You are certainly an interesting one, so full of light, so bright and pure, and yet not even a single ounce of hesitation to sell your soul, and descend to hell. Who should I heal, who is this person to you, darling?''

Azaela regarded him carefully, one pulse. ''My sister in all but blood. For all she has unknowingly given me, I can give her that in return.''

Crowley snorted. ''How noble, I accept. You'll get one year, and then your soul belongs to me.''

''Aren't ten years the customary period of time one has after making a deal with a demon?'' Azaela raised her eyebrow, stepping a little closer to the middle-aged demon with the Scottish accent.

''Sorry, luv. You only get one.''

Azaela nodded, not hesitating in the slightest, she had not come here for herself, but for her sister who was always talking about what she wanted to do in her life, who now lay motionless in the hospital, skin pale with the force of death.

''Doesn't matter.'' Azaela replied firmly, and she could have sworn there was even a hint of respect in the demon's eyes.

Crowley stepped forward, the gravel cracking beneath his feet noisily. ''We have to kiss, then the terms of the deal will be fulfilled. Your friend will wake up fully healed and in a year I'll collect your soul.''

Azaela nodded, and leaned forward until their lips met.

Another hell-hound growled near her cottage, and Azaela stroked the back of one of her books deep in thought. She remembered how her friends had questioned her, firm in their belief that she must have done something. But Azaela never answered, content to enjoy the time she had left. She had put all of her affairs in order, apologizing to the Goblins who were surprisingly forgiving once she had explained her reasoning, even thanking her for ridding their bank of such filth. They truly seemed to abhor Voldemort and what he had done.

Azaela had also written her will, leaving everything to her Godson Teddy with a separate vault for Hermione, who would no doubt spend all that money on books. She was content, having lived the last year to the fullest, happy to witness the marriage of Ron and Hermione, and their apparent happiness.

A week ago, she had told them that she would travel for a while, visiting magical communities all around the world, and had smiled at Hermione when she had given Azaela a trunk-necklace with supplies only hours later. How she loved Hermione and her mother-hen tendencies. Since she didn't know anything about Hell, she had added some other things to her trunk, having a feeling that it might be useful later on.

Brushing over the tattoo of the Deathly Hallows that had formed over her heart a year ago, she walked into the kitchen, setting up a pot of tea with a small smile on her face. She grabbed her tea-cup, only to pause when the white and black design caused a memory to spring to the forefront of her mind.

''What are you doing her so late, little one?'' A white shirt, black pants, and kind brown eyes, looking right through her, to her very soul... ''Especially you.''A tingling feeling of power and how had he known her name? ''Would you, child, choose a content life, riddled with burdens but never too much, or would you choose a life that would include pain and darkness, but would eventually after many years result in happiness?''An ageless whisper... ''Not an easy path...''

The cup shattered on the ground, as Azaela continued to stare blankly at her hand where only a moment before the tea-cup had been. Why would she remember that man now? Was it because his certainty had shaped her into what she was today? Was it because her magic had instantly trusted him, was happy to be close to him? Was it because he was the first adult to have been truly kind to her? Or was it because his words and the figure of Jesus hanging on that cross reminded her so much of her current situation?

She shook her head, clearing those thoughts out of her head. She wouldn't brood on that topic now, not when she had no time left to waste. No matter what she did, she still couldn't get those kindkindunderstanding eyes out of her mind. She slumped back on the armchair, thinking back towards that day, getting lost in memories and sensations long past and gone.

It had been dark, a dreary day and she had fled to the church, had prayed to God and met that strange man who had known her name, had felt unbelievably safe and warm. It was because of that meeting that she believed in God, that he still cared. She had known love, received and gave it in perhaps not an equal measure but enough to let her smile genuinely and brightly for the first time in her life.

She wondered, even as she watched the relentless rain, if God would condemn her actions, or if he would maybe secretly smile at the oddity and strangeness that was the human will.

Azaela watched the lake in the light of the rising sun, white puffs forming in front of her mouth, as she shivered in the cold.

It was time.

She could hear the hell-hounds close to her, growling and howling in triumph. It was time.

She smiled a small and secret smile, enjoying the way the blue lake glittered in the sunlight, rubbing her cold hands together, as the growling finally stopped. There was a foreboding silence. It was time.

She turned around, watching the hell-hounds advance on her slowly, like predators watching their prey, before she closed her eyes.

Azaela Potter's body would be found two days later by a muggle hiker who was on vacation, the authorities would never manage to confirm her identity, so she was buried in a small nameless grave, an unfortunate wildlife attack in the forest. People in the small village would wonder and shake their heads at such youthful naivety and soon forget about the incident.

In a place filled with endless tortured screams, hanging on a rack with hooks through her shoulders, among the unending darkness, emerald eyes opened, and took in the world around her.

''Welcome to hell.''


	3. Green eyes in hell

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter or any of my characters

Previous chapter:

In a place filled with endless tortured screams, hanging on a rack with hooks through her shoulders, among the unending darkness, emerald eyes opened, and took in the world around her.

''Welcome to hell.''

Chapter 3 - Green eyes in hell

Azaela studied the figure before her, face completely blank even as she slammed wall upon wall outside her normal Occlumency shields. The art of Occlumency was normally only the magical defense of the mind against external penetration, to close one's mind off and preventing other's from influencing one's thoughts or feelings. It was s useful when controlling one's emotions, letting them fuel instead of control you.

Azaela had never truly liked Severus Snape, but the man had made her something close to a master Occlumens in a frighteningly short amount of time and what she didn't know then, she practiced during the last year with books from the Black Library. She was just glad that she looked and acted mainly like her mother, and not her father, James Potter. She didn't want to know how the private lessons would have turned out otherwise.

Another not widely known fact about Occlumency was that your mind could retreat behind your shields, wholly or just partly which was mainly used when experiencing excruciating pain or reliving memories, one of the reasons why even after so many Crucio's Snape was still so very cunning, and not a snivelling mass like many other Death Eaters.

So Azaela Grace Potter eyed the silhouette standing before her without showing the pain her body must undoubtedly feel from being impaled in the shoulders. The demon, for the completely black eyes were a dead give away, was watching her with no small amount of glee which quickly turned to confusion as she didn't do anything but blink at him in apparent boredom.

''Thank you for the overwhelming welcome.'' Azaela bit out sarcastically, a contrast to her still mainly blank expression.

The demon, probably only a lowly grunt from what she could tell due to it's apparent stupidity and ripped and dirty clothing, nodded, still staring at her, before he pulled out a sharp knife and grinned at her crookedly.

Azaela retreated a little deeper, now seeing the world through a slightly green tinted vision, a thin film separating her from the outside world, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. Separating one's spirit from one's body could be dangerous in the long run, so she would have to alternate when she was given rest. Azaela was for the first time truly and utterly glad for what the Durselys had done to her. Hunger could be unbelievably painful, and even though the abuse never turned truly physical, she had a high pain tolerance from her childhood on, which only increased in her Hogwarts years.

The demon viciously cut into her skin, over and over again, and Azaela watched dispassionately, as her blood ran down her body, soaking her clothes and falling down to the ground in ruby coloured drops. Yet she never once cried out, staying silent even as the demon became more vicious, ripping and cutting at her skin, flaying parts of her legs, all the while becoming increasingly more agitated.

''Damn human.'' the demon snarled, glaring at her, insanity lurking beneath the black depth.

Azaela stayed silent, eyes still focused on the figure before her, wishing not for the first time in the last several hours that she had access to her magic. And while she could feel that comforting and overwhelming warmth flowing through her body, she somehow couldn't project it outwards.

''Do not rejoice, Alastair himself, is scheduled to take care of you. I was merely there to pass your time productively.''

The demon snarled once more, before turning around without another glance, leaving Azaela in the crushing darkness, muting the screams that still reverberated throughout hell. Watching her clothes and skin fix themselves slowly, wounds closing cell by cell, Azaela wondered what the following time would bring.

Sometimes she wondered how many years had already passed, how many decades of pain and loneliness. Souls did not need sleep or food or anything else, but Azaela's mind was still craving a change from the monotonous days of questions and torture and pain and misery. She was sure by now that the only reason she was still completely sane and not a twitching mess was her Occlumency skills.

She was miserable, lonely, and sometimes the pain even shone through, but she hadn't broken yet. She hadn't even uttered a single scream, sometimes she talked, or sang or hummed, but never screamed. It was driving Alastair crazy, the white eyed demon who she found out years ago was Hell's Grand Torturer seemed to have made it his personal mission to make her scream and beg and cry for mercy.

Azaela wasn't very inclined to play along, she mostly retreated behind her shields, watching memories of her life, surrounding her mind with the warmth of remembrance and magic. Sometimes she had the nearly overwhelming urge to hug Severus Snape for teaching her Occlumency, and giving her the ability to let the years in hell pass by like a nightmare, frightening in it's intensity, but unable to influence her choices.

It was during that monotonous time that Azaela Grace Potter-Black first met Dean Winchester.

Her magic was humming, in excitement and anticipation, as if it knew something that Azaela didn't. It wouldn't surprise her, not anymore. She had long accepted that magic was sentient, a separate entity that was deeply intertwined with her. Azaela had always wondered why people saw their magic as merely energy to use, it was just so much more. It could be blinding or soothing, dark or light or a myriad shades of grey.

It could be instincts or knowledge or wisdom or emotions or anything in between. It was impossible to describe magic and what it knew, so Azaela allowed a small smile to cross her face as she began looking forward to whatever would disrupt the seemingly endless days and months and years of only Alaistars' grotesque laughter.

It felt like the start of a beginning.

The first thing she heard was the clinking of chains, the low grunts of pain that only an unconscious person can make and the noise of demons walking across the dusty ground of hell. It took only a few minutes more for the several figures to become visible in the darkness of where she had been for the past several decades.

Two lower level demons were dragging the figure of a bound man towards her direction, and Azaela watched with no small part of happiness and pity as they hung the man onto the racks, hooks holding up his blood covered body. The lower level grunts glared at her venomously (she was rather unpopular in hell, something about being too bright, and not screaming enough) before leaving her with her new 'rack mate'. She was torn between happiness that she finally finally had someone to talk to after so many decades and pity that this man who undoubtedly had no magic or Occlumency to protect him, would also receive Alastairs tender mercies.

There was a reason why that demon was the Grand Torturer of Hell after all, he was a master in pushing and probbing and slashing and cutting and then putting everything back together.

It took the man several hours to regain conciousness, groaning and moaning in pain. Azaela could see his eyes snapping open, green eyes taking in the darkness around him, as he started pulling and rattling his chains, pain twisting his expression as he screamed out a single name again and again.

''Sam! Sam! Sammy!''

Azaela sighed, sympathizing with the obviously distraught and hysterical young man - and wasn't that weird to think about? - only her belief that it was worth it, that everyday was completely worth it if Hermione could live a full and happy life, let her accept her due in life or rather death so calmly.

''There is no Sam here as far as I know.''

The man's head snapped towards Azaela's direction, eyes wide as he took her in. ''Who are you? Where am I?''

Azaela smiled at him, trying to put him a little more at ease, although she could see that he was only getting more and more agitated.

''We're in hell. My name is Azaela. A pleasure to meet you, although I wish it could have been under better circumstances.'' Her voice was slightly coarse from disuse, and the man regarded her more closely now, scrutinizing her.

''Yeah, Dean.''

''You must be rather important if they brought you here, or just plain unfortunate.'' Azaela mused, looking at the man - Dean - curiously. It was true, Alastair had confessed that he only tortured the special cases and that this was his domain, and that no other demon would dare to place his victims here.

''Why would you think that?'' Dean asked suspiciously, which made Azaela laugh for the first time in years, the last time being when Alastair completely lost control of his anger and started cursing in a suspicious amount of languages, pacing before her. It had been a rather amusing image.

She didn't notice how Dean unconsciously relaxed at the warm sound, but she did see that he looked slightly stunned when she turned towards him again.

''Sorry, just haven't had much to laugh about in ages. This here is the domain of Alastair Grand Torturer of Hell, which means that he has taken a special interest in you. That's why you are either important or just plain unfortunate.''

Dean grimaced in what might have been an expression of compliance, it was too dark to see properly anyway. ''Both probably. So what did you to land here?''

''Sold my soul, you?''

''Same.''

''What for?'' Azaela asked curiously, noting the feeling of sadness was now emanating from Dean.

''To save my brother's life, and what did you sell your soul for?'' His tone was a mixture of curiosity, wariness and suspicion.

''To heal my sister in all but blood.''

Dean nodded understandingly, a bit of the suspicion leaving his green eyes, yet he still seemed tense, like a war veteran seeing the hidden danger lurking in the shadows, he was also impressively impassive to the pain he must undoubtably be in.

Their impromptu meeting was disturbed by the reappearance of Alastair. Azaela could see Dean visibly tense at the appearance of the white-eyed demon, glaring at him with a nearly palpable aura of hate. There clearly was a history there.

''Dean Winchester. Welcome to Hell. Azaela, sweetie, you finally have someone to share this lovely place with. I don't want you to become too lonely.''

Azaela rolled her eyes. ''Alastair, please do make it quick. I was having a civilized conversation for the first time in decades.''

Dean looked at her like she was crazy, Alastair just glared at Azaela, while the Girl-Who-Lived or the Chosen One tightened her Occlumency shields yet again.

Having a rack mate would without a silver of doubt prove to be an interesting experience, Azaela was sure of it.

Azaela could see it coming, could see him visibly break every single time, with every single day and every single question.  
Dean Winchester would say yes soon, leave the rack and start torturing other souls, inflict all his pain and bitterness and hopelessness upon those unfortunate to be placed in his way, Azaela couldn't even blame him.

He was a strong human, full of belief and strength and core morals. She knew that from the many conversations that they had during the last few decades. It had taken months, for the conversations to become more private, for them to open up to each other, and honestly just ask.

Dean had been curious why she could take the pain so well and why she was important to the demons. Azaela wanted to know the same, so she told him about natural born witches and wizards, about their Statue of Secrecy and and that she used magic to protect herself. Dean had taken the news rather well, for all his hate against everything supernatural he was a decent judge of character.

And Dean told her about his life, his job as a hunter, his brother Sam and how he had pissed off so many demons that he would be sent to Alastair to be tortured.

So it pained the green eyed witch that he could see Dean visibly faltering, weakening and breaking every year, with every torture session and every time Alastair would ask that cursed question. Dean snarled and mocked and grinned and refused and yet Azaela could see how tempted Dean was, how he lost that light and strength, how he became bitter because of the pain he had to endure.

''Do you want to exchange your place with another soul?'' Alastair's grinned mockingly up at Dean Winchester, and Azaela wasn't the least bit surprised when the answer varied from the one given for the last three decades.

''Yes.''

Azaela closed her eyes, she could imagine Alastair's gleeful expression, his victorious grin. She did not need to actually see it.

The chains rattled, and Dean Winchester was taken down from the rack.

''Sorry Azaela.''

She simply gave him a small smile, trying to let him see that she understood and didn't blame him. The small amount of relief she could see made her smile a little broader.

''I forgive you, Dean Winchester. Do not completely lose yourself.''

He nodded, and left. The darkness that surrounded her suddenly seemed so much lonelier than before.

Azaela did not talk to Dean for the following years, only seeing glimpses of the green-eyed hunter when he sometimes crossed Alastair's domain, or lurked in the darkness when Alastair tortured her.

She could see his hollow and dark expression lightening just a little, when she still smiled at him even after a decade of him torturing other souls. Azaela did not even think about stopping the only thing that seemed to return just a lining of that strength he had before.

There was something special about Dean Winchester, Azaela Grace Potter-Black could practically feel it in her blood, pulsing whenever he broke just a little further.

So she grinned, smiling in happy triumph when she could feel light entering hell for the first time, see those enormous and beautiful white wings chasing the shadows and darkness away, sense it heading towards Dean, and when he heard Alastair scream in rage and frustration, feel both the light and Dean leaving hell, she laughed joyously.

Azaela did not stop laughing for a long time, enjoying Alastair's anger and rage, the feeling of victory that seemed to pulse in her veins. Her magic singing for the first time in decades, having drawn strength from the presence of what seemed to be an Angel.

And for the first time in many years, Azaela Grace Potter-Black prayed to God.


	4. Visitors

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, Harry Potter or any of the characters

 

Previous chapter:

So she grinned, smiling in happy triumph when she could feel light entering hell for the first time, see those enormous and beautiful white wings chasing the shadows and darkness away, sense it heading towards Dean, and when she heard Alastair scream in rage and frustration, feel both the light and Dean leaving hell, she laughed joyously.

Azaela did not stop laughing for a long time, enjoying Alastair's anger and rage, the feeling of victory that seemed to pulse in her veins. Her magic singing for the first time in decades, having drawn strength from the presence of what seemed to be an Angel.

And for the first time in many years, Azaela Grace Potter-Black prayed to God.

Chapter 4 - Visitors

She was changing, she knew that. Just because the pain did not render her throat raw and bloody, and her mind in pieces did not mean that she wasn't able to see what Alastair would do again and again to her body. How he would dismantle it piece by piece, only to put it together with a demented grin that would after decades still give her a rather sick feeling in the stomach.

Azaela had been in hell for well over a century already, and she feared for how much longer it would take her to break into a thousand pieces, like a mirror shattering into a thousand fragments. Only because the pain was reduced to a dull ache, instead of the all-consuming agony, did not mean that hell wasn't getting to her.

She was nearly unbearably lonely. She craved human contact with a fervor that she never knew she possessed. Talking to Dean had been exactly what she needed though at that moment she hadn't even known. After decades with only Alastair and the tortured screams of the damned, Dean was like a taste of freedom and normality and belonging.

She closed her eyes, determined to shut the world out, and dream of better times and the chiming and sweet sound of laughter.

It was silent. Azaela opened her eyes cautiously, half convinced that she had to be caught in a memory, because hell was never quiet. There was always the disturbing background symphony of pain and screams and a nearly oppressive feeling of despair.

There was a slight breeze caressing her face softly, a feeling so foreign that she nearly recoiled. How long had it been since anything had touched her so softly, without any intention of harming her at all?

Her eyes widened when she took in the world around her, the rolling hills of green grass and the wide and dark blue night sky, unblemished by any cloud. She gripped the grass around her tighter without even noticing, staring at the scene that was so different from the never-ending darkness that was hell that she nearly started laughing hysterically. Only her absolute faith in her Occlumency shields prevented her from believing that this was somehow orchestrated by demons, and even it would have been worth it.

The feeling of grass beneath her hands, the slight chill from the cold of the night and the beauty of the stars contrasting against the dark sky, wind blowing softly around her. It was beautiful, simply breathtaking.

''Thank you.''

The words reverberated from all around her, the voice as warm as commanding, and Azaela had the urge to kneel and submit, to try to please the owner of that voice in any way she could.

It frightened her in ways she couldn't explain. She hated not being in control, being helpless, one of the reasons why she had learned Occlumency so quickly. Being at someone else's mercy scared her, chilled her to her very bone, especially after being bound for so long. Calling upon her magic, she tried to shield herself, give her time to pick up the pieces she was unknowingly splintering into.

''Calm down, child.'' The voice was quieter now, less power carried by the words, and Azaela relaxed slightly as she could feel her magic humming and singing joyously in her very veins, dancing over her unblemished skin and bringing an unbidden smile to her face. She had missed this feeling.

Azaela looked up as she heard the sound of footsteps behind her, stunned as she took in the man? being? before her. He hadn't changed at all, still wearing a blinding white shirt with black pants, the same brown hair and beard and kind eyes, not a wrinkle more on his slightly tanned skin. It was the very same man who she had met at the church so very long ago.

The being smiled at her softly, the very same he had directed at her years ago, full of some unrecognizable feeling that she couldn't even begin to describe.

''It has been a while. You have grown up, Azaela Grace Potter.''

Azaela smiled without even noticing at first, the same feeling of ease and contentment settling over her that she could still remember. ''Indeed, it has been many years for me, .''

She blinked stunned when the being grinned widely, settling down feet away from her, before scrutinizing her carefully. She shifted, slightly uncomfortable as he kept staring at her for several long moments.

''Your soul is still as uncorrupted and pure as it was when you were born.''

Azaela gaped at the being incomprehensibly, she wasn't free of sin, or darkness or incorruptible. She had been in a war, had killed and hated and despaired and even sold her soul.

''That... My soul is not... that's not possible.'' she whispered, shaking her head in denial. Because her soul could not be possibly called pure any longer, not to forget the fact that she had literally housed a part of the soul of Tom Marvalo Riddle, aka. Lord Voldemort or aka. resident mass murder.

The man? being? she would have to decide on the exact nature of who or what the figure? in front of her was at some point, just smiled at her understandingly, ignoring the way Azaela tensed when he carefully reached over and ruffled her raven locks.

''You underestimate yourself, child. I can see your soul, and everything you could ever be, every possibility that you could have taken, and believe me, child, I have not see such a soul in a very long time. Otherwise I would not have approached you when you were still a little fledgling.''

Azaela, very briefly, considered arguing, she would have, if anyone else told her those words, but she found herself nodding in compliance instead. It was the same certainty that made her believe that she deserved to be loved, even though the whole world had told her otherwise, had pounded into her again and again that she was not wanted, not loved in any shape or form.

''Okay.'' She cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed at the hand that was still tousling her hair affectionately, shifting her eyes nervously from that teasing expression towards the full moon that was illuminating the night, a soft light that didn't hurt her sensitive eyes.

''Where are we?'' she asked instead, trying to ignore the amused expression on the being's face as he let her change the topic graciously.

''I wonder. But if you must know, little one, we are under the moon and over the earth, sitting on grass which has never been touched before.'' he replied, a thoughtful frown on his face, caressing a blade of grass with the tip of his finger gently.

Azaela tilted her head to the side, sensing that there was more than the refusal to give a direct answer that the words hid, yet before she could try to delve into those uttered words deeper, she was halted by a gentle pressure above her head.

She looked at the slightly chiding expression in the being's gaze, averting her eyes unconsciously. There was just something beyond the obvious crackling and twisting power to that man that made her act that way, a sort of respect that she had never given anyone else.

''Why am I here?'' The question had been lingering on her tongue since she had opened her eyes to something she had thought would never see again.

''You are an exception to a certain rule I have existed by.'' The being stared into the night sky, seemingly deep in thought. Azaela waited patiently, if there was one thing that she had learned in hell beside Occlumency and how to handle boredom, pain and loneliness; it was how to be patient. A virtue which had admittedly never been her strongest point.

''Due to certain choices you and someone else has made, your path has become separate from those you belonged to before. You have become different, closer to my own existence than you may realize. That's why I can approach you. And that's also the reason why I brought you here.''

He looked right into her widened emerald eyes, while Azaela was trying and failing to understand what he was talking about. She wondered, however briefly, if the being was being vague and terribly cryptic on purpose before dismissing that nagging feeling. She didn't think it would do her any good to dwell on that thought.

''I'm sure it all makes sense from where you are coming from, but I just don't see it.'' Azaela drawled slightly annoyed, eyebrow twitching dangerously.

The being blinked at her, obviously bewildered, before he burst out laughing, a deep sound that raced across the empty plain, somehow soothing her irritation without her permission. It reminded her of the sunshine, warm and intense, spreading life and contentment throughout the whole world.

''I apologize, little one, it has been a long while since I spoke in this position to anyone else. You will see soon. Do you remember what I once asked you when you were still small, about your path in life?''

Azaela nodded, scrunching her eyebrows, trying to remember the exact wording.

''Would you, child, choose a content life, riddled with burdens but never too much, or would you choose a life that would include pain and darkness, but would eventually after many years result in happiness?''

The man nodded, looking pleased at her remembrance. ''What path do you think you have chosen?''

Azaela quirked an eyebrow, letting her gaze flatter over her now unblemished skin where only an hour before, hooks were winding themselves into her blood covered body.

''I do hope that this is the hard path, I really don't want to know what it would be otherwise.''

The man snorted, looking more human than he had during the whole time, an elbow resting on a raised knee comfortably. ''Indeed.'' he mused, ''It is that path which you have chosen. If you had not, I could not have approached you.''

Azaela sighed, feeling a headache starting to form. ''I do hope that everything is going to be clear at some point in time.''

''Of course it will be, daughter of mine.''

Azaela stilled, looking up at the equally still form next to her. The being smiled sheepishly, a little unsure, before he tucked a single strand of hair behind her ear.

''I would not mind being called Father once more, if you still wish for the same thing you did back then.''

Trying to blink away the misty film that seemed to possess a life on it's own, Azaela struggled to hold back the tears at the feeling of rightness that this term seemed to convey to her, as if she had always meant to call this man father, and no one else.

She nodded once, not trusting herself to speak. The loss of her parents had always been a gaping hole in her heart, her very soul, that nothing had ever managed to fill. But as the being in front of her wiped away a tear that had managed to escape her eye with a gentle brush of his thumb, she finally felt a warmth settle into that previous cold and empty place, happier than she remembered being in a very long time.

The feeling didn't even abate when Azaela opened her eyes, darkness again the only colour she could perceive, while the tortured wailed all around her, the tingling feeling of soothing lips still on her forehead, the warmth of a pair of strong arms around her, while the lingering words of a muttered goodbye briefly overpowered everything else.

''We will see each other soon again.''

The second man? being? she saw other than Alastair was admittedly as much as a surprise to Azaela as the first, her father. The word still filled her with as much warmth as it did the first time she uttered it, and saw him grinning in delight, looking at her with something she was finding easier and easier to name with each visit. He had taken to taking her consciousness? out of hell and into that beautiful field every time she was alone, and not tortured by Alastair. So it came as a surprise when even after Alastair was long gone, the familar quiet and security she connected to that place, remained firmly out of her reach.

She was about to retreat into her own memories, when she heard the sound of footsteps approach her direction, walking evenly on the dusty ground of hell. Curiously, she tilted her head, ignoring her still regenerating left ear, while straining to see anything in the darkness, chains rattling with her slight movement.

Azaela couldn't hide her surprise completely when the familiar figure of the demon she had made a deal with stopped several feet away from her.

The demon looked at her wounds, grimacing in what she assumed was distaste, before scrutinizing her carefully.

''Well, darling. It's been a while. I really do hope you are still sane, I hate wasting my time uselessly.''

Azaela couldn't help rolling her eyes, not missing the fact that the demon's gaze had zeroed on that movement. ''I would hate wasting your time, Crowley, although I don't see why you are here. I doubt it's for my charming and undoubtedly impressive personality.''

Crowley eyed her curiously, ''You seem to be quiet sane, and you even remember my name, luv. That will make it easier. I actually wanted to see how you have managed to handle hell. I have to admit I had forgotten about you for while, otherwise I would have come earlier.''

Humming, Azaela smiled at the now visibly startled demon. ''It's been very fun believe me. Alastair is just a joy to be around, a very good conversationalist.'' She was aware of the unfortunate side-effect of hell on her personality, she had become sarcastic. Joy, she just hoped she wouldn't become like Snape, that was a thought she should probably lock behind heavy metal chains due to the high risk of mental scarring.

Crowley raised his eyebrow, looking to be the very definition of scepticism. ''Becoming snarky, darling?''

Azaela huffed, ''I've hanging here for a century, seven decades of those alone with Alastair, what do you think would happen. That I start singing about puppies and rainbows?''

Seeing Crowley's smirk, Azaela pouted. She was serious, Alastair was just plain disturbing, and Dean was long gone, if father hadn't dragged her consciousness out of hell, she would have gone crazy from a lack of intelligent conversation months ago.

''Well, it seems like you are quite strong enough to deal with hell. More so than even Dean Winchester, and I believed him to be quite strong. Is it because you are a witch...no... you are somehow special. Your soul still shining so brightly even in this place, the others would have broken.'' Crowley mused thoughtfully, peering at her emerald eyes with a nearly overwhelming amount of curiosity mixed with fascination.

''I will have to leave, I'll be back soon, luv.''

He turned around, vanishing in the darkness without looking back. Musing on the interesting meeting with the Crossroad demon, she smiled when she felt the slight jarring sensation that usually pre-dated the separating of Azalea's consciousness.

''Daughter.'' her father's deep and warm baritone voice greeted her once she opened her eyes to the familiar plain of grass and night.

''Father.'' Azaela grinned in delight, jumping to her feet before quickly throwing herself into her father's arms. It had taken many visits for her to become truly comfortable expressing physical affection by herself, instigating the hugs that she now so thoroughly enjoyed.

There was an endless feeling of security and warmth when Azaela was wrapped in his embrace, a feeling which she had never experienced before, and even though she was still wondering about the why, if her suspicions about his identity proved correct and she was sure it would; she had decided to put her faith in the inherent rightness she still felt.

Smiling she extracted herself from his embrace, sitting down on he soft grass, enjoying the slight caress of the wind on her skin.

''It is time soon, for me to raise you from perdition.''

Azaela choked, gaping up at the still standing form of her father. ''Wha... you mean I get to leave hell?''

''Of course, haven't I mentioned that before?'' he inquired innocently, and Azaela wished she could throw something at him, preferably heavy and painful.

''No, you seem to have forgotten to mention that fact.'' she deadpanned, feeling quite justified in her ire.

His expression changed from teasing to serious in a moment, and Azaela sat up straighter immediately, feeling the power flaring, and the wind picking up speed.

''You will become the deciding factor in the fate of the world, Azaela. Dean and Sam Winchester are of great importance, their fates are grim as of yet. Your involvement will tip the scale, so be careful what you do.''

Then he smiled, and the tension disappeared with a single beat of her heart. Azaela blinked, scratching her cheek as she tried to figure out how to ask without embarrassing herself needlessly.

''Don't worry, we'll still see each other again, daughter.'' His words soothed her doubts, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as he straightened on the grass, tilting his head upward so that it was parallel to the night sky.

Azaela tried to relax as well, but her thoughts returned again and again to what her father had promised would happen soon. She wondered what would happen once she was free. She couldn't return to what her life had been before, for the Wizarding World Azaela Grace Potter-Black, Lady of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Potter and Black would remain deceased, a fact which would be proven by the release of her will at Gringotts and the automatic return of her Head of House rings.

No, Dean Winchester better appreciate her, she didn't want to waste her highly sought after freedom after all.

Azaela grimaced as she remembered her father's ominous words, she really didn't want to test what it really meant to be the Master of Death after all.

She really could without dying again.


	5. Breaking point

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter or any of the characters, unfortunately ;)

Previous chapter:

Azaela tried to relax as well, but her thoughts returned again and again to what her father had promised would happen soon. She wondered what would happen once she was free. She couldn't return to what her life had been before, for the Wizarding World Azaela Grace Potter-Black, Lady of the Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Potter and Black would remain deceased, a fact which would be proven by the release of her will at Gringotts and the automatic return of her Head of House rings.

No, Dean Winchester better appreciate her, she didn't want to waste her highly sought after freedom after all.

Azaela grimaced as she remembered her father's ominous words, she really didn't want to test what it really meant to be the Master of Death after all.

She really could without dying again.

Chapter 5 - Breaking point

... and those two brothers are completely unbelievable, although you probably know the older brother better than I do.''

Azaela blinked at the rambling demon, more than a little amused at the Crossroad Kings' obvious annoyance concerning the two Winchesters. Crowley had taken to visiting her several times during the last years, venting some of his frustrations on someone that he so graciously put had at least decently functioning mental facilities and didn't have the obvious desire to backstab him.

She had taken it as a rather convuluted compliment, aware of the missing intelligence of the majority of demons, and more than pleased at the information her host was graciously providing her with. He seemed to believe that she would never leave hell again and she hadn't demmed it necessary to inform him otherwise, especially of her pending release.

Crowley was actually decent company, for all his superior and mocking attitude and complete lack of any empathy. The demon had a sense of humor, however morbid it was, and seemed curiously torn between the two sides of the war. The Crossroad King was a quintessential Slytherin and reminded her more than slightly of Professor Snape who had served both sides out of self-preservation and a feeling of duty mixed with a heavy dose of remorse.

''Where is Alastair anyway?'' Azaela questioned the dark haired demon, not having seen the Grand Torturer of hell in several years, and she had finally decided to just outright ask, rather than wonder about her missing torturer. She didn't miss him or the torture, yet the silence was getting to her, the screams having become such a constant background noise that sometimes Azaela did not even notice them anymore.

''He's busy.'' Crowley snorted, ignoring her raised eyebrow. It seemed like he wouldn't elaborate anymore.

''Alastair is not interested in doing anything but torturing people, he despises Earth.'' Azaela pointed out.

Crowley growled, pacing back and forth before her hanging figure, eyes darkening to a deep black, overtaking the previously white surroundings. He looked absolutely furious, his mask slowly chipping away.

''I don't know.'' he snarled, sounding completely mad and frustrated, as if him not knowing was a personal insult. ''It's connected with Lucifer's awakening, the seals are breaking.''

''And you're against that.'' Azaela frowned, observing the demon before her.

Crowley stopped pacing, instead he zeroed in on her with a frightening intesity. ''Of course, Lucifer may have created us, but to him we are worth nothing, merely abdominations. His release would mean our death, and the other demons don't even realize it, so taken in by their destructive urges.''

''Then why not help the Winchesters?'' She questioned, relaxing minutely when the demon before her calmed down, eyes slowly returning to their previous human colour.

Crowley glared at her. ''Why would I?''

''Dean Winchester was led to hell by demons, attended to by Alastair and rescued by an angel of the Lord. If you want to play both sides, start by being invaluable to those who hold the most influence. Dean hates demons, but he can put his pride aside and accept help, you just have to give him enough reason to.'' Aazela ground out, thinking of Snape and his desperation for the war to just end.

If she could get Crowley to help Dean, then her friend's survival chances would increase rapidly. Crowley was smart, had influence and insider information and knowledge that would be invaluable for the Winchester's. And even though Azaela didn't personally know Sam, she did owe Dean for keeping her sane, and most importantly she actually genuinely liked the man under his gruff exterior.

Crolwey sighed, expression more contemplative than angry now, and with only a small acknowledging nod, he turned around, disappearing in the darkness of hell, leaving a hopeful, yet concerned Azaela behind.

Her lips twitched upwards into something resembling a smile when she felt herself leaving hell once more. Although she had impeccable trust in her father, her strength was by now visibly waning. She was lucky that Alastair was not present, otherwise she didn't know how much pain her shields would have actually blocked.

It was like the hope of leaving hell had weakened the desperation that had fueled her Occlumency, an unyielding strenght that had protected her during those long decades was now chipping away day by day. Azaela had to put every ounce of her left over strenght and conviction to act like nothing had changed during the last years, but she was just so tired.

It was like a bone deep exhaustion, gripping her heart in an unyielding way. Closing her eyes, she barely even acknowledged the change in scenery or the gentle breeze of wind that was ruffling her raven hair, merely curling into a small ball, trying and failing to find even a mediocre amount of rest.

Because how long had she already been in hell? She couldn't remember, decades upon decades of torture and a crushing loneliness flitting though her mind, she curled even tighter, wishing for once to not feel anything. Not even the old memories she had watched a thousand times already, listening to laughter she would never hear again.

It was like a flood that couldn't be stopped, more than a century of repressed feelings suddenly crushing into her, overtaking her mind, and fracturing her very soul. Azaela whimpered, a small part of her mind that wasn't overtaken by the sudden pain, wondering why now?

It was only when strong hands pulled her close to a warm body, power and strength crackling around her, that Azaela realized she was shivering almost violently, her whole body trembling under the force of the constant feeling of pain and misery that seemed to have burrowed itself deep into her soul. She gripped his shirt tightly, refusing to show any more weakness, not wanting to show how broken she felt sometimes.

She refused to-

''Hush child, I am here.'' Her father's voice was as warm as soothing as ever, and Azaela choked back a sob, as his arms tightened around her in a protective embrace.

''Da-d...dad.'' The tears came unbidden, forcing their way through all the barriers she had put up, trailing down her face. And then she began crying, her frame trembling and shivering as she sobbed onto her father's shoulder, deep and heaving and broken sobs that shook her whole body, even as she tried to contain all the emotions burning through her veins.

''Let it out, Azaela. I won't leave you. I am here, child. Now and forever.''

And then Azaela screamed, for once not hiding behind broken memories that were long since gone, not using sarcasm to cover her own pain, not smiling if only to convince herself that she was still fine, but screaming and crying while she broke further apart.

It was like a broken dam, breaking apart further and further the more water runs out, until the whole structure comes crashing down.

Everything had a breaking point, and as Azaela screamed out her pain to the world, she realized that she had finally reached hers.

It hurt. Worse than the Cruciatus, or the unrelenting hunger of her childhood, or even the pain that would reach her even beyond the Occlumency shields. It felt like something inside her was breaking, fracturing into a thousand pieces even as she continued to scream.

Azaela stilled as a deep crack echoed in her very mind, and suddenly she wasn't screaming anymore, but struggling to breath, even as she sensed something new forming where she felt as if her very soul broke to pieces.

It was warm, driving the unrelenting pain and icy coldness away, soothing the very part of her that had been aching and pulsing and hurting for decades now, and she gulped glorious amounts of air into her lungs, managing to focus on her surroundings properly for the first time since the first scream tore from her lips.

She was still in her father's arm, half curled up on his body, his power blanketing everything else. Azaela whimpered in a mixture of pain, and relief and confusion, because what just happened?

''D-dad?'' Azaela whispered, wincing as her thraot throbbed in protest.

''Yes, daughter?'' He tightened his arms around her, his voice not giving away any of his feelings.

''What just happened?'' Azaela asked.

He hummed, stroking her hair absent-mindedly. ''The human part of your soul broke apart.''

''Human part of my soul?'' she questioned faintly, even as horror spread through her body.

Her father chuckled, pressing a kiss to her messy hair. ''Yes, don't worry about it. It was merely a matter of time. Your soul is as beautiful and untainted as ever. Can't you feel that new part of yourself forming?''

Azaela nodded into his shoulder, feeling the warmth spreading through her body, similar to her own magic. ''It's warm.''

''It's called grace.'' he answered her unspoken question.

''But, don't angels have grace? I'm not an angel, right?'' Azaela furrowed her brows in confusion, trying to make sense of everything.

''No, what does it remind you of?'' he asked, even as she closed her eyes, concentrating solely on that new pulsing feeling, her eyes snapped open and she whipped her head upwards, looking into those brown eyes she had come to associate with safety and warmth and love during the last years.

''You.'' Azaela breathed out quietly, looking at her father's smiling face that told her so much more than simple words. ''Why?''

''It is not time for that answer yet, it is not only my place to tell you, but yes. You will never be alone again, Azaela. Welcome home.'' There was love in his eyes, an overwhelming amount that made her breath hitch, and Azaela briefly wondered how she had ever lived without anyone looking at her like that.

She wanted to ask why, so many thing made no sense to her. Why would a being such as him take such a personal interest in her, make her his daughter in everything but blood?

It was inconcivable to her, like a puzzle missing vital pieces, yet she knew with a startling amount of certainty that he would never leave her. Her magic sang in joy, interwining with her newfound grace, pulsing inside her veins, and Azaela laughed as it raced throughout her body, feeling free and unburdened, as if such a thing was always meant to happen.

She felt like she was home.

''I'm home, dad.'' she grinned at him, bright and real, emerald eyes sparkling and taking in her father's own deep rumbling daughter that seemed to wash away the last prestiges of hell.

''Good.'' he kissed her forhead tenderly, a smile tugging at his lips, and both watched he faintly illuminated night sky, content in a way Azaela thought she had never been before.

It might have been minutes or hours after when her father moved, pushing a single strand of hair behind her ear, he seemed to hesitate before smiling at her gently.

''Are you ready?''

Azaela nodded, instantly knowing what he was talking about. She hugged him fiercly one last time, smiling sadly even as her surroundings began to vanish, she saw his lips moving and her eyes widened as she understood, a single tear of happiness trailing down her cheek.

And then Azaela Grace Potter-Black knew no more.

The first thing she felt was the hard and unforgiving surface she was laying on, groaning she opened her eyes, blinking away the last relics of confusion, trying to focus on the world around her. It was silent, only the occasional chirpings of birds interrupting the solace of the forest she found herself in.

For a moment, Azaela merely took in the looming trees around her, before a grin spread over her lips and she laughed joyously, the sound echoeing in the silence.

She couldn't help it though, she was free.

No more hell, no more darkness and loneliness and misery and torture. Azaela heaved herself up, gripping a tree tightly for support, smiling when she felt strong enough to walk on her own. She looked around, spotting a small path that led through the woods, the earth showing signs of being trampled on regularly.

Sighing, she began her treck though the forest, still smiling as she tasted the air around her with every breath, feeling more alive with every moment.

She stumbled several times, roots and little stones covering the path, making the small track a challenge for her weakened body. Azaela perked up when the path became wider and clearer after several minutes of walking. She quickened her pace, only stopping when she reached the end of the forest, blinking at the mountains of junk and metal that was stapled at the edge of the forest.

It was then that she remembered what Dean had told her once, that his pseudo-father Bobby Singer had a kind of salvage yard close to a forest that he often stayed at with his little brother. Figuring that her father would probably drop her at some place she could contanct Dean easily, she trudged though the mountains of junk and occasional cars, already looking forwards to a proper shower and bed for the first time in well over a century.

Azaela skipped towars the front door and knocked, not the least bit surprised when the door was ripped open and she came face to face with a rifle held by an older man with greying hair and a full beard, wearing scruffy clothes.

''What do you want?'' he questioned her, his suspicion written all over his face.

Azaela smiled. ''Is Dean Winchester here by any chance?''

Water splashed onto her face, and Azaela blinked at the older man a little bewildered, fighting the urge to just dry herself, she sighed.

''I don't intend to hurt him, if you tell him Azaela wants to see him, we could skip the whole 'watching each other suspiciously thing'.''

''He's never mentioned you before.'' Bobby Singer accused her gruffly, a little less hostility in his voice, although it was in no way welcoming either.

''Probably not, it wasn't a very pleasant situation in general. If you want to test me further, go ahead.''

After not reacting to anything the old Hunter could think off, he reluctantly let her inside the house. Azaela took in the old furniture, many books and the homely feeling, before nodding approvingly at the older Hunter who still seemed slightly bewildered, not that she could blame him.

''Mind if I sit down?'' she asked, looking at the comfortable couch longingly, flopping down gracefully when the old Hunter gave her a jerky nod.

Azaela watched Bobby take out a phone, still watching her out of the corner of his eye, as he dialed a number quickly.

''Dean? There's a woman here, called Azaela. Said you know her.''

Azaela couldn't hear what Dean said on the other side, but it made Bobby visibly startle, the old Hunter eyed her speculatively for a moment, before calling out in a gruff voice. ''Hermione...''

''Jane Granger.'' Azaela answered him, watching as Bobby visibly relaxed.

Bobby Singer soon hung up, his expression was still slightly closed off, but the hostility had vanished, instead curiosity was visible in his dark eyes.

''The boy said he knows and trusts ya'. The boys are gonna be home soon.''

Azaela nodded, feeling the strain her body was under, ''Mind if I take a shower and just crash in some random bed?''

Bobby shook his head, ''Nah, go ahead. Bathroom and Bedrooms are upstairs.''

She grinned at him, stretching before walking up the wooden stairs. Azaela was so looking forward to seeing Dean's face when she finally met him for the first time on earth and not in hell.

Even as her head hit the pillow of the random room she had chosen, hair still wet from the first shower she had in a century, she still couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

Tomorrow, everything would change.


	6. New and old acquaintances

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter or any of the characters, unfortunately ;)

Previous chapter:

She grinned at him, stretching before walking up the wooden stairs. Azaela was so looking forward to seeing Dean's face when she finally met him for the first time on earth and not in hell.

Even as her head hit the pillow of the random room she had chosen, hair still wet from the first shower she had in a century, she still couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Chapter 6 - New and old acquaintances

The first rays of the morning sun shone through the gap of the dark blue curtain covering the window of the room Azaela had been sleeping in, making her groan in obvious annoyance as she blearily opened her eyes. She had nearly forgotten the irritation usually connected with waking up too early, the heaviness of limbs in the morning, and the desire to close ones eyes and ignore the world around them.

Unfortunately Azaela had never been able to condone the waste of so much time, especially since her stomach was quite obviously in need of some sustenance. She hadn't actually eaten in a long time, and did she miss the feeling and smell and taste of food. Ignoring the rest of the cluttered room, Azaela instead instantly found her gaze zeroing in on a familiar item laying on the bed table next to her, an item that hadn't been there the previous evening.

With only the faintest sign of hesitation, she reached towards the familiar black resurrection stone, situated on a golden ring. The crest of the Deathly Hollows clearly visible in the faint light. Sighing in exasperation, Azaela rubbed her temples wearily before slipping the ring on with one quick movement, stilling at the comforting feeling washing over her.

The ring reminded her of the darkness that would always soothe away her hurts during her childhood, that comforting feeling chasing away her nightmares. A small smile graced her face, as Azaela fingered the necklace she was still wearing. Now she was more thankful than ever that she had listened to her strange gut feeling and packed her trunk.

With a wave of her hand, the necklace glowed momentarily with a silvery light, before vanishing, only for a trunk to appear before her on the wooden ground, ebony colored with her initials in silver carved on the top.

Opening the trunk, she descended the spotless stairs, and ignoring everything else, made her way towards her bedroom, intent on showing once more before getting dressed.

It wouldn't do for her to make a bad impression on her host after all.

Bobby Singer was already awake when she entered the living room, still cluttered in various books and papers. She was reluctantly impressed by the amount of time this man obviously put into research. His dedication to ridding this world of everything Supernatural would have been even more worth of praise if she wasn't one of said beings.

Smiling at the grumbling man cheerily, Azaela entered the kitchen, one eyebrow twitching at the mess that seemed to cover every inch of the place. She ignored Bobby's expression that seemed to say 'It's not that bad.', and instead searched for some edible ingredients. Making a smalls sound of victory when she found some eggs, milk, flour and apples; Azaela deftly handled the pan and only minutes later the smell of pancakes were wafting through the house.

''Want some as well?'' she turned around, smiling at the clearly indecisive man leaning against the doorway. Bobby grumbled something incoherent, before answering in his gruff voice. ''Thanks.''

Azaela chuckled, before frowning thoughtfully at the older man. There was something odd about Bobby Singer; something missing, and she didn't know what. Disgruntled, she flipped the last pancake once, before handling it deftly onto the pile of pancakes already on a plate.

Breakfast was spent in mostly awkward silence, and if she wasn't so used to being silent, Azaela would have been more than a bit uncomfortable. Bobby seemed unable to properly relax in her presence and she couldn't even blame him. One didn't survive by being naive, and Dean told her enough of the scruffy man to know that he was fiercely protective of the Winchesters.

''Didn't know you brought any clothes with ya, girl.'' Bobby eyed her new clothes suspiciously, a tension in his movements that hadn't been there before.

Azaela pulled at her long sleeved emerald shirt, and smirked at the old hunter mischievously. ''I have my ways. Don't worry though, Dean knows how I do it.'' She chuckled at the half intrigued, half disbelieving expression on his face, he was clearly curious. ''Besides you tested everything on me.'' She added, smiling amusedly at the annoyed hunter.

Bobby glared at her, as she made no move to hide her amusement, and gathered the dishes, grumbling something about 'shared labor'. Azaela grabbed one of the books about demons lying on the living room table, and flopped down on the worn down couch gracefully.

Demons are malevolent spirits created by Lucifer, the fallen Archangel. They are created from corrupted human souls that have endured extensive torture in Hell…

The sound of turning pages was the only sound present in the house, and Azaela allowed herself a small accomplished smile, when Bobby sat down on the other couch, and they both read on in a comfortable silence.

All in all, Azaela hadn't felt more content in a long time.

The sound of squeaky tires, and a car's engine snapped Azaela out of her new reading material; chuckling when she felt Dean's presence outside, Azaela stretched and observed curiously as Bobby grabbed a flask of what she suspected was holy water and a silver knife, and headed towards the front door.

Truthfully, she felt a little better knowing that it was a standard procedure, and not only selective paranoia. The rumbling of the engine stopped and Azaela could hear two car doors snapping shut, and Dean's voice arguing with someone that must have been his brother and Lucifer's vessel, Sam Winchester.

''… heck do I know...''

''But… why…even possible.''

A moment later, Bobby ripped open the door and splashed what sounded like the holy water.

''Silver.'' Bobby's gruffly demanded and only moments later Dean practically ran into the living room, and stilled as soon as he saw her lounging on the sofa. Dean's eyes were wide, and she could see the hope and relief in their murky depth. The idiot had probably felt guilty for escaping without her.

''How?'' his voice shook, and Azaela got up, crossing the few feet distance between them with a few steady steps.

''Someone must have thought you need me, Dean. I'm here to stay. Let's just be glad that heaven likes us, okay?'' Azaela answered gently, patting his shoulder softy. This seemed to break him out of some trance, because suddenly there were arms around her and Azaela was pressed into a hard chest. She pretended not to notice the shaking of his body, or the few salty drops of tears landing on her neck.

''Everything's fine, Dean. Don't worry.'' Azaela mumbled, and she felt Dean give a jerky nod before releasing her; clearly embarrassed at his outburst. But Azaela could understand, she was the only one who would ever be able to sympathize with him; she had been the only constant presence for all those decades in hell and it formed a bond that could not easily be broken or forgotten.

Azaela chuckled, as she spotted Bobby and Sam standing unsurely and clearly confused in the doorway to the living room, eyes flickering between Dean and her.

''I'm Azaela, a pleasure to finally meet you, Sam Winchester. Dean told me so much about you.'' Azaela held out her hand, and Sam shook it after a moment of hesitation. Azaela frowned when she felt some kind of taint clinging to Sam like a constant shadow.

She would have to think about all those odd sensations later; first Bobby and now Sam.

''Likewise. So how did you meet? Dean wouldn't say.'' Sam smiled awkwardly at her, and Azaela noticed the dark shadows under his brown eyes.

Deciding to ignore the issue for now, Azaela chuckled as she sat back down; the other three man following her. ''Well… we actually met in hell.''

Disregarding the groan coming from Dean at her blunt answer, and the choking from the other two; Azaela launched into her tale. It was interesting for her to observe how both hunter's tensed, throwing bewildered looks at the bemused Dean while she went on explaining about natural born witches and wizards.

''So there's actually a whole community of natural born witches and wizards. How come we've never met any?'' Sam asked curiously, a spark in his eyes that he had seen thousands of times in Hermione's before.

''There aren't a lot in America, and we have a charm that can remove memories. Otherwise we would have been long discovered.'' Azaela explained, shuffling a little to get more comfortable.

''Actually I've heard stories before, but I never thought they could be true.'' Bobby remarked, frowning thoughtfully.

''Yes, there are a number of tales. And before you ask, Merlin was real.'' Azaela grinned at the stupefied looks she was receiving. Shocking people could be so much fun.

''So who got you out of hell?'' Dean asked, pinching the back of his nose, before pointing upwards with his thumb. ''One of those fluffy things from up there?''

Azaela laughed at the amusing image, having missed Dean's dry humor. ''Actually…'' Before she could continue, there was the sound of fluttering wings, and Azaela could sense another presence right behind Dean. Glowing wings took in her whole vision; the feather's a beautiful and soft yellow, while the edge was a pure and brilliant white. The vessel was a man in his thirties with pale blue eyes and brown ruffled hair, staring wide eyed at her.

''Castiel.'' Dean spun around in his seat, but the angel wasn't even looking at him.

''Azaela Grace Potter... Who was it that…'' he broke off with a strangled gasp, as he stared intently at her. Then his blue eyes bored into her own emerald one's, and his voice trembled as he began talking again, desperation etched into every syllable ''Father… have you seen God?''

Azaela hesitated only for a second; there was too much repressed hope intertwined with the painful tenor of agony in his voice to deny him. ''Yes. He is alive, but cannot interfere further than this. My presence here is due to a loophole he exploited, I'm supposed to help stop Lucifer.''

Castiel nodded, a slight silver of relief in his pale eyes. Azaela could understand the angel's feelings; she would have felt abandoned as well and if she didn't know her father's reasoning she would have been rather angry at the composed look of sadness and confusion gracing the angel's face.

Azaela smiled half-heartedly at Castiel, thinking back towards the time when she had asked her father the very same thing.

''Dad, why don't you interfere? I mean I can understand that people have to learn from their mistakes, but the apocalypse…?'' Azaela asked quietly, leaning against the tree her father had created in the middle of the wide grass field.

God frowned, sighing sadly, before he turned towards her and his own brown eyes clashed with hers. ''Oh, child. Sometimes I wish I could… but then nothing would ever change.''

It was in these moments, when he spoke with such emotion and certainty; when his words rang with truth that Azaela was reminded of who exactly she called 'father'. She nodded, knowing that arguing wouldn't work. God had told her many years ago that he could see the possibilities of the future, of what could happen or would never come to pass.

''Let me tell you a story, daughter. It all began with a single thought of awareness…''

God had told her of his origins, his life and decision and thoughts, and she had never been more honored.

''He's still watching over you, though.'' She added quietly, and she saw Castiel's head snap up, and his lips tug upwards in what seemed like an unfamiliar gesture, and she realized that he was smiling.

''Thank you. Your help is greatly appreciated.'' Castiel bowed slightly, and Azaela scratched her cheek embarrassedly at the amount of emotion in the stoic angel's voice.

Azaela chuckled amusedly when she saw the gaping forms of Sam and Dean, Bobby obviously having composed himself earlier. The old hunter stood up, and cuffed Dean around the head, storming off into the kitchen while muttering about 'stupid idjits'.

''Farewell then, Azaela Potter.'' With a nearly silent flutter of his magnificent wings, Castiel disappeared. Smiling sheepishly and eying Dean's determined expression nervously, Azaela contemplated on how to escape the doubtlessly following interrogation when Bobby – God bless him – came to her rescue.

''Idjits, did you get Death's ring or not?'' Bobby banged the three bottles of beer onto the table, giving Azaela a questioning look. Smirking, she waved a hand, sighing when she breathed in the familiar scent of Earl Grey tea.

''I'm British.'' She winked, when Dean grimaced at her choice of drink. Azaela was beyond pleased when she couldn't detect any discomfort or hostility at her casual display of magic.

''That's pretty cool.'' Sam breathed out, eying her cup with fascination and the resemblance to Hermione had never been stronger. How she missed her bushy haired friend sometimes...

''Thanks, so…?'' she raised an eyebrow at Dean, who scowled in response.

''No…'' he ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. ''I talked to Death, we spoke, he called me a snarky bacterium…'' he glared at Azaela when she tried in vain to muffle her laughter. ''Yeah, I know. Then he called Lucifer a 'bratty child', said he's bound against his will, Chicago will survive because he likes the pizza, and then suddenly he stills for a moment, and disappears.'' At the end Dean was nearly shouting, pacing next to the couch clearly agitated.

''What should we do?'' Sam rubbed his weary face, ''Bobby sold his soul for this, even if only temporarily…''

Azaela stilled, throwing a thoughtful look at Bobby. This could explain the feeling she had earlier, how she thought something was missing.

Her gaze flickered over her hand, and the glittering ring on it. It was official, Fate hated her.

It would all make sense though….

Suddenly her magic was screaming at her, and she jumped from the couch, staring at the doorway. She could feel the questioning gazes of the three hunters boring into her back, but she didn't even acknowledge them.

Something was coming.

Stronger, older, more than the angel who had not even registered as a threat to her magic. This one was different; it reminded her of how her magic reacted to her father. It was humming and dancing in her veins, anticipation mixed with a curious feeling of excitement.

Reacting so strongly to a presence not even visible, her ring was nearly burning; and she was aware that her eyes must have been glowing in that moment, with her magic on haywire.

She didn't care though, a small involuntary smile gracing her lips as she took in the onyx eyes, the dark grey hair, the dark cane and the business suit adorning the sudden visitor's body, and a familiarity settled over her soul.

She knew this presence… had felt it soothe away her nightmares and fears… clung to it in her darkest and most hopeless days in her cupboard.

''Hello.'' She greeted the man who was both familiar and not, not even flinching when the full weight of that gaze settled unto her.

''Good day, Azaela. It's a pleasure to finally be able to meet you.''

Brown eyes look up from the newspaper they had been perusing only seconds ago, a small smile gracing the lips, as he took in the all too familiar being in front of him.

''D, what a surprise.'' The brown haired being wasn't too surprised when the visitor merely sat down opposite to him gracefully, adjusting his black coat even as equally dark eyes clashed with warm brown ones.

''Old friend, it had indeed been a while.'' D answered with the same deliberate slowness he had always been fond of using, and the brown eyed being unsuccessfully fought back a fond smile.

Handing his oldest and probably only friend a sandwich which definitely had not been there seconds ago, he leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair of the café he had chosen to frequent.

''Thank you.'' D gestured towards the sandwich, and a comfortable silence settled over the two beings. ''My bindings are gone.'' He added, even though they both knew it to be unnecessary.

''Yes, I apologize for my son. He was always rather fussy.'' The brown haired male, dressed in a sort white shirt and short pants grumbled displeased, but the dark eyed being – D – waved him off, leaning forwards slightly, even as he folded the wrapper of the finished sandwich.

''Old friend, how is she?'' The previously uninterested onyx eyes demanded answers, and the brown eyed being smiled softly.

''She's fine. Not perfect, but she's dealing. She's calling me dad already. I haven't told her yet.'' He admitted, a sheepish smile on his face, which morphed into laughter as his oldest friend rolled his eyes exasperated even as a small smile adorned his lips.

''You won't be getting out of that, God. I will not face it alone.'' Death raised one delicate eyebrow at the creator of the world they were currently on.

''Of course, D. She will be dying of curiosity by that time… You know that, right?'' the amused man – God – chuckled, imagining that particular reaction and barely managing not to cringe. His daughter did have one hell of a temper when provoked after all.

By the mirth visible in the black eyes, he had not been as successful as he had hoped. Death smiled, pushing himself up reluctantly, thoughts already elsewhere. The pale horseman was already several steps away from the creator of all life, when he turned around once more. ''Will you be bringing him back?''

God winked, and a moment later he was gone. Death sighed, used to his friends eccentrics after so many eons upon eons of acquaintance.

It was time he introduced himself to his new mistress after all.


	7. Rings and Family

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter or any of the characters, unfortunately ;)

 

Previous chapter:

Reacting so strongly to a presence not even visible, her ring was nearly burning; and she was aware that her eyes must have been glowing in that moment, with her magic on haywire.

She didn't care though, a small involuntary smile gracing her lips as she took in the onyx eyes, the dark grey hair, the dark cane and the business suit adorning the sudden visitor's body, and a familiarity settled over her soul.

She knew this presence… had felt it soothe away her nightmares and fears… clung to it in her darkest and most hopeless days in her cupboard.

''Hello.'' She greeted the man who was both familiar and not, not even flinching when the full weight of that gaze settled unto her.

''Good day, Azaela. It's a pleasure to finally be able to meet you.''

Chapter 7 – Rings and Family

Azaela tilted her head, frowning thoughtfully at the ancient being in front of her, trying to place a name to the confusing feeling of familiarity that seemed to race through her very being; her magic thrumming in her veins like an excited child. There was a name at the tip of her tongue - a name she knew to be true - and the elder man's eyes held a pleased glint in them, as if he knew that she was so very close to remembering.

''What are you doing here, Death? After suddenly running off, here about the ring?'' Dean's voice broke through the comforting stillness like a gunshot; loud and damaging and Azaela felt a shift in the air, as if the familiar being - Death - had only noticed the other three man and seemed entirely displeased with their presence.

''Dean Winchester.'' Death drawled coldly, voice clipped and icy, ''again you seem to overestimate your importance. Contrary to your opinion, the world does not revolve around you, nor would I ever as you so delicately put it 'run off'. There are things happening which your tiny mortal mind will never be able to comprehend, so do me a favor and stop talking.''

Death did not shout, nor did his face show anything but cold indifference; yet Azaela could tell that Death was more than simply displeased about Dean's interruption. The elder Winchester probably had no idea how close he was to being eradicated from the face of the Earth; her theory was proven when her magic hummed in agreement.

''Dean, calm down. Now!'' Azaela looked meaningfully towards Sam, and the younger Winchester immediately nodded, recognizing the danger for what it was, and grabbed the glaring Hunter, trying to prevent Dean from running his mouth off any further.

''Sammy, what the hell...'' Dean whispered furiously, trying to shake off his younger brother's arms. Sam only continued to look warningly at his elder brother who finally seemed to get the situation he had been in. Azaela could barely suppress a sigh of relief. She liked Dean, she really did, but he had the tendency to speak and act before thinking.

''Alright, Sammy. I'll behave.'' Dean promised, raising his hands in surrender, as he plopped down on the worn couch, posture still wary.

''So, Death why are you here then?'' Dean questioned, ignoring Bobby's muttered 'idjit' and Azaela's exasperated eye roll.

''I believe that I have already answered that question, Dean Winchester. And it would do you well to remember that you do not have the right to question me. I tire of your lacking respect.'' Death answered frostily, throwing a disdainful look at the elder Winchester, before his gaze once again flickered to Azaela who had stayed mostly silent during the small confrontation, intent on observing the pale horseman.

''I am here to meet, Azaela Grace Potter-Black, or rather Peverell, if you consent to a change in name. Peverell would much better suit who you are, and what you will become.'' Death's proposition had Azaela blinking bewilderedly, slightly surprised at the change in topic, before she nodded hesitatingly; her eyes on the small black stone adorning her ring finger.

''It does seem rather fitting, does it not? Peverell it is then, the names Potter and Black have already passed on anyway.'' Azaela mused, suppressing a smile at the pleased look in those fathomless black eyes. ''A pleasure to finally meet you, Death.''

Death nodded regally - seemingly understanding what Azaela was trying to say without expressing it in words. ''I was only recently released from the pit, of course a fraction of myself was always on Earth; Death is absolute and eternally present after all. But I could not manifest any solid form, so I could not show myself sooner.'' Death scowled in displeasure, making Azaela smile in a gesture of amused fondness that was usually reserved for her father nowadays.

Azaela chuckled, ''What you did - the rare but constant reprieve - was more than enough.''

Ignoring the mixture of incredulous and gob smacked on Sam's, Dean's and Bobby's faces at the pleasant, civil and cryptic - she was starting to see the appeal of being vague on purpose - conversation Azaela had with Death; she cocked a questioning eyebrow at the deity, gesturing to her own empty tea set.

''Ear-Grey sounds rather lovely right now, thank you.'' Death sat on the vacated arm chair, eyes still firmly on her side, as she waved her hand, conjuring a steaming cup of tea with chocolate cookies.

Azaela wasn't even the least bit surprised anymore when she found herself easily doing feats which other wizards and witches had deemed totally and utterly impossible. Conjuring permanent food and drinks out of thin air was one of those instances. But Azaela had found the rules and regulations of magic not applying to her anymore since fusing with the Deathly Hallows. If those three magical items truly were made by Death, then superseding the laws of magic might not be as surprising anymore.

The silence was broken by the quiet hum of pleasure the deity released upon sipping some of the hot beverage. ''Perfect, my dear.''

Shrugging her bewilderment at the title off, Azaela tried to formulate the unnamed questions and errant thoughts flickering in her mind. ''What exactly do the Hallows mean?'' she eventually asked, deciding to start with a topic that had been plaguing her mind since before she even descended into hell.

''The Hallows, my dear, forge a connection between the one who masters the Hallows and the one who made them. The title 'Master of Death' or in your case 'Mistress of Death' is rather misleading. No one can actually control Death, but at the same time the Master of the Deathly Hallows stands above Death.'' Death nearly whispered, but the words still rang through the rooms as if they had been shouted.

''I believe it has become clear to me, why the two of you are friends.'' Azaela deadpanned at the cryptic answer, and Death's lips tilted upwards into a resemblance of a smile at the quip.

''Sometimes it is true that we think alike.'' Death confessed, grimacing slightly as if doing so physically pained him. Azaela didn't know whether to laugh or sigh in resignation, so she settled for pinching the bridge of her nose in a silent admission of defeat. She didn't think ancient deities - father or not - would ever stop confusing her.

''Have you ever had Chicago pizza?'' Death suddenly asked, and Azaela shook her head automatically, deciding that trying to understand how Death's or even God's mind worked was not something that she would ever try doing again, the constant headache was certainly not worth it.

''Excellent.'' Death continued, rising from the arm chair with unearthly grace, ''then I shall have to rectify that immediately.''

Azaela sighed in resignation and vacated her own seat, knowing that arguing would be futile. She had a modicum at experience with all-powerful and absolute deities after all.

''Why would we let her go with you?'' Death jumped up from the couch he had been silently fuming on, glaring at the halting form of Death.

''Dean...'' Sam shushed his brother, while Bobby cast wary glances at Death, not that Azaela could blame him. She knew what would happen the moment those black eyes narrowed in annoyance. Dean had a penchant for seemingly pissing off beings more powerful than him after all.

''How would you stop me, arrogant child?'' Death taunted the elder Winchester condescendingly, his lips curling into a mockery of a smile, and Azaela saw Dean grit his teeth in obvious fury.

''Don't worry, Dean. Nothing's going to happen. I'll be back soon.'' Azaela promised, summoning a coat from her trunk mid-walk, only waving back at the worried and confused hunters once she was by the doorway. Death's presence was still blanketing the whole area, easily drawing her attention back to her father's oldest friend.

A pale hand was stretched out towards her only a moment later; and with only the faintest traces of hesitation, Azaela grabbed it.

In hindsight, just going along with an ancient deity that could literally turn you into dust with nary but a thought, was probably not one of her brightest ideas ever regardless of how familiar said cessation of all life felt.

But Azaela had always followed her instincts - meaning her magic – and had never regretted doing such, so even sitting across the pale horseman, trying to decide which pizza she should choose, she couldn't bring herself to feel even the slightest bit of apprehension.

''Which one's the best?'' Azaela decided to ask the expert, frowning thoughtfully at the extensive selection of crusty Chicago pizza. The little quaint restaurant they were sitting in was rather cozy and hidden in an alley branching off one of the main streets. It was obviously rather old and had probably seen better days, but Azaela liked it.

''The Cheese one is rather good actually.'' Death replied, hands folded on the table.

Azaela nodded seriously, contemplating her choice of menu for another few second before humming affirmatively. Cheese did sound heavenly right now, no pun intended.

It was only when the waitress left their table that the previously jovial air disappeared, and Azaela was left with the weight of the attention of Death himself.

''I should probably continue where we left off…'' Death mused quietly, black eyes boring into hers. ''You are only my Mistress in the loosest sense, meaning you don't control me but you can still influence my decisions.''

''How so?'' Azaela probed, as she mulled over the cryptic explanation in her mind.

''It's for the same reason why He takes such an extreme interest in you. Your existence is special.'' Death answered rather vaguely, and Azaela's right eyebrow twitched dangerously as she saw the flash of grim amusement flickering in those charcoal eyes.

She sighed, ''There is no chance that one of you would actually deign to answer the myriad of questions I have by now, or am I mistaken?'' Her tone was one of wry amusement as she sipped some cold coke. Azaela savored the drink if only because it had been so long-

''It is still too soon.'' Death chuckled, an unexpectedly warm sound as he took in her undoubtedly frustrated yet resigned face.

Azaela groaned even as she leaned backwards in her chair, falling silent when the waitress approached their table with two large plates, the smell of pizza already teasing her sensitive senses.

''Thank you.'' She murmured, jolting in surprise when a familiar energy was suddenly next to her, inwardly thanking every known deity that she hadn't had any food in her mouth, Azaela only had a second to contemplate the fate of someone choking to death, before the situation fully registered in her mind.

''Death, Daughter; what a surprise to see you here.'' The soothing tenor of her father's voice washed over her in comforting waves, but Azaela was still too stunned to move or act, because what the heck was he doing here?

''God, how pleasant to see you again.'' Death drawled, and Azaela couldn't tell whether that was spoken truthfully, or a complete lie.

''Father…'' Azaela acknowledged God haltingly, resisting the urge to rub her temples wearily to ward off the headache persistently trying to lodge itself in her head. ''What are you doing here?''

''Well…'' God all but beamed, ''…I wanted to see you of course, and see to it that Death here doesn't bully you too much.''

Azaela this time did pinch the bridge of her nose, pizza long forgotten. ''So you were bored.'' She deadpanned, and even managed not to sound accusatory – at all.

''Indeed.'' Death agreed instantly, and they shared a commendatory look of shared suffering as they took in the pouting form of God. Sometimes Azaela wondered when the last shreds of sanity had left her – personally she blamed Alastair – and at other times she wondered if she was the only sane one left.

''Death has not been bullying me…'' Azaela raised an eyebrow, managing to convey her disdain of such a notion quiet effectively, ''…besides doing the same thing you did. I wonder if being cryptic develops over time?''

''It is a possibility.'' God conceded, laughter in his warm brown eyes, and even Death's lips twitched into the semblance of a smile. For some reason Azaela counted that as a victory.

''So neither of you are actually going to tell me why God and Death have taken a personal interest in me, nor why you Death, actually let me combine those Hallows. I do not think that you like to be bound in any shape or form.'' Azaela sighed resignedly. Having already accepted that she wouldn't get any satisfying answers, but still hoping-

''Exactly.'' God smiled at her with far too much cheer for it to be comforting. So Azaela turned towards the dark form of Death imploringly, arching her eyebrow in a mixture of resignation and small tinges of hope.

''I have to agree with Him, the answer to that question should not be uttered yet. And normally I would also agree with your assessment of hating to be bound, but you are an exception Azaela Peverell. Otherwise my Hallows would not have accepted you.'' Death drawled slowly, his black fathomless eyes looking right through her to her very soul.

Azaela groaned pitifully before finally acquiescing that trying to get useful information out of the two deities was a lost cause. ''Alright then.''

God tousled her hair affectionately, while Death graced her with another of his amused gazes. Azaela was contemplating if that was his default expression when dealing with her, while pouting at her father, who was still tousling her hair, regardless of how messy it already was.

''Dad, stop it.'' Azaela mumbled, hoping her face was not as red as it felt like. Her protest seemed to only spur the creator further on, because in the next moment her father's presence was behind her, arms surrounding her smaller form in a tight embrace.

''Can I not be happy to see my daughter again, hm?'' He chuckled fondly, pressing a kiss to her messy raven hair.

''Of course you can. But what are you really here for?'' Azaela grumbled, but made no move to escape from her father's hold.

God smiled knowingly, ''I wanted to give you something. Especially Lucifer might wish to attack you should it become common knowledge that I raised you from perdition.''

Before Azaela could ask, God raised his right hand and among flashes of light dancing in his palm, the Mistress of Death could see something forming. It was only moments later that the bright light disappeared and Azaela stared in awe at the delicate pendant laying innocently in the palm of the creator.

It was a brilliantly shining silver tear, with green vines seemingly capturing the captivating drop. Azaela couldn't help but notice that the vines were an emerald green identical to her own widened eyes.

''Beautiful…'' she breathed, not even aware of having opened her mouth; but the pendant was the most beautiful and overwhelming piece of jewelry she had ever seen and Azaela couldn't help but be entranced by its brilliant light.

''I'm glad you like it. It will tell my children that you are under my protection. They will not hurt you, even Lucifer will think twice about doing such. It will give you enough time to escape should you find yourself in such a situation.'' God explained, fastening the pendant around her neck. ''I'll let you alone now. I believe Death still has things to discuss with you.''

Azaela nodded, smiling faintly as God pressed another kiss to her ebony hair, before disappearing from the small diner altogether. Raising her head, Azaela noticed Death studying her intently yet again. ''He is very fond of you.''

''I am very fond of Him as well.'' Azeala stated simply, and that was the absolute truth. She loved God like a daughter would her father; and even though she still didn't have an answer to her many questions, she trusted Him to tell her when it was time.

''Yes, you certainly are.'' Death smiled, ''But to come back to the Deathly Hollows and why you could combine them. There are many requirements and I will only tell you about two today. The first would be a pure soul, someone who would not abuse the power given to him or her. The second would be an understanding of the natural order and the balance of the souls. That step is the hardest to achieve. When your friend – Hermione Granger – died, did not your entire being protest her death, did it not feel wrong to your magic to see her dying?''

Azaela opened her mouth to say anything- before closing it yet again, reluctantly thinking back to that day when she had seen her best friend dying, her pale skin and the feeling of absolute wrongness. The pounding to stopstopstop whatever was happening to the brilliant Muggleborn witch, whatever the means or price she herself had to pay.

Back then she thought it was because of her strong attachment to her sister in everything but blood, but perhaps it was more.

''So she wasn't supposed to die, so I felt obliged to save her because I understood the natural order?'' Azaela tried to make sense of the confusing thoughts plaguing her mind. Did she only sacrifice so much, because it was necessary?

Death sighed in quiet exasperation, but his eyes were full of fond amusement. ''No, child. You were so desperate because you sensed the violation against the natural order, but even without that urge you would have done anything to save your friend. That is who you are.''

Azaela coughed in embarrassment, ''Thank you, Death.''

''Grandfather.'' Death replied, coal eyes locking onto emerald ones and Azaela could only gape in complete mystification. Did she just hear-

''Grandfather?'' she repeated numbly, tilting her head in complete confusion.

Death rolled his eyes – actually rolled his eyes – waving his hand in a motion that was somehow both affirmative and dismissive simultaneously. ''God has already claimed the title of father and in the eyes of mortals my appearance is that one of an elderly man. Therefore Grandfather as a title would be suitable.''

Azaela nodded, knowing better than to expect some kind of explanation. ''Grandfather it is, then.'' She smiled warmly at the new part of her family, and once again her magic bathed in the rightness of such an action.

''I believe that you will need this.'' Death raised his right hand, a silver ring with a white stone glinting in the faint light.

''I heard Dean speaking about gathering your ring, but I have no knowledge of what he planned on doing with it.'' Azaela admitted, eyeing the ring of her Grandfather with no small amount of fascination. It felt similar to the resurrection stone adorning her own hand, merely stronger and indefinitely older.

''The four rings of the horseman can open the path to Lucifer's cage.'' Death explained.

''So basically the four rings and a good plan to lure Lucifer somewhere is what is needed to encage him.'' Azaela clarified.

''Exactly, that is the short version. Of course Samuel Winchester will probably be the best bait, with him being Lucifer's vessel and all.'' Death couldn't quiet manage to hide his disdain at the whole notion. Azaela had the feeling that while Death probably tolerated the Winchesters, the most he would ever feel would be smidgens of grudging respect.

''I can't see Dean agreeing to it, but well.'' She sighed, but obligingly took the ring her Grandfather – Death – offered her, and slid it on her finger. There was a moment of silence and waiting, and Azaela felt tendrils of something prodding and judging, but it wasn't threatening, so she took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

It was an eternity rolled in a moment, before the same energy pulsed in what she interpreted as acceptance and it invoked the same feeling of warmth that she always felt when one of her precious people – Hermione and Ron and the Weasleys and Luna and Neville, but now only God - looked at her with that strange feeling she at first couldn't name.

Because for years she had been girl and freak and unworthy and no one, plagued by the hollow feeling of loneliness that could swallow up things larger than herself. Until He had casually destroyed all those insecurities with a smile and determined words, shifted the axis of her world in a single night.

But perhaps even though for her they were all gonegoneforveralways, she could build a new family. One even more unconventional then the last, but still there. Because Death's – Grandfather's – eyes were warm and accepting and that was enough.

She didn't think that she could get over the loss of her old family immediately, it was an aching wound in her heart and mind, but not soul. And everything could heal in time, and for all she had lost, she had also gained, so when she looked up and saw the fierce pride conveyed to her through those fathomless eyes, she couldn't help but smile brightly.

She had always been a Gryffindor for all the Slytherin tendencies she hid beneath her skin, rushing and headstrong and brave before the unknown. Perhaps she should indulge her inner Gryffindor once more.

''Thank you, Grandfather.''

His small smile was all the confirmation she needed. Now she would only have to try to explain to the Winchesters why all those all-powerful deities seemed to gravitate towards her.

Sometimes, Azaela truly hated her life.

Returning to Bobby's was surprisingly less awkward than Azaela expected if only because Death seemed to have hit his quota of human contact for the day, and left as soon as he dropped her off in front of the house.

His whispered goodbye which hinted at another visitor was soon forgotten in favor of quelling the frantic expression on Dean's face. Both Sam and Bobby looked less worried, but also quite anxious and Azaela felt something inside her warm yet again.

They had been worried for a near stranger, a woman they had only known for hours and she appreciated it more than she could ever say.

Azaela smiled inwardly while listening to Dean's rant, ''… and that freaking Death had better not come here like that again.''

''Dean.'' She interrupted the Hunter gently, ''Calm down… I'm fine… and I even have the ring.'' She raised her hand, pointing at the silver white ring on her left hand. Dean went rather still at that, staring at the item with a rather gob smacked expression on his face.

''But how?'' Sam voiced the question, and Azaela grinned unrepentantly.

''Well apparently Death likes me well enough.'' She decided on a half-truth. It wasn't like Azaela was lying either and she was still too confused about the whole having-deities-as-family thing to actually think about how she would explain everything.

''Well at least we have all four rings now.'' Bobby handed her a cup of coffee, probably remembering her aversion to alcohol, and she shot him a thankful look.

''But can we actually trust him?'' Dean grumbled, clearly still unsettled after the encounter with Death. Truthfully Azaela couldn't quite blame him.

''Dean, it's Death.'' Sam replied, ''it's not a matter of can but that we have to. It's our only chance.''

''Doesn't mean I have to like it.'' Dean glared at nothing.

Bobby pushed two bottles of bear into their hands, adding gruffly, ''Calm down, idjits. Death doesn't seem to have any reason to lie to us. He seems to like the girl well enough.''

''But-''

''No, Dean. Listen to me, boy. Sometimes we gotta take a leap of faith. I don't like the thing anymore than you do, but it's necessary.'' Dean continued to grumble but seemed to take Bobby's word to heart. Azaela was a bit surprised at the easy acceptance, but on the other hand Dean did think of Bobby as a father.

''Good, so what's the plan?'' Azaela ventured.

''Bobby? Sam?'' Dean glanced at the two other hunters.

''We should-''

Sam was interrupted by a loud crash in the hallway; the sound of wood splintering was clearly audibly, and Azaela followed the three hunters, less wary than they were. Because for a short amount, for a fraction of a second, her magic had sung in remembrance at the flickering of both her father's and grandfather's powers.

And she remembered Death's odd parting words, 'Soon, we will sent another one who will aid you in preventing the Apocalypse.' that she had forgotten in favor of calming the frantic hunters down.

Grace, her mind whispered as they arrived in the hallway only moments later, a flickering light bulb providing the only light in the cluttered room.

''What the heck?'' She heard a voice muttering in confusion, a groan of pain soon following. Without thinking about it, her instincts compelling her to, she breezed past the three hunters, ignoring their alarmed yells and crouched down next to the hurt arrival, his six wings flaring majestically behind him.

They were even more beautiful than Castiels', warm like the sun and yet interwoven by so many flickering colours that they seemed more like the sky. A sky that could bathe the world in the warmth of sunlight, or punish it with the darkest clouds and heaviest rain. She urged to touch them, run her hands through the soft feather, but she dared not to, knowing that such a thing was private.

Her magic enthusiastically sprang forwards out of her palms, lightening the hallway in a soft green light, and she pressed them onto the hurt angel's chest. Azaela studied the startled being who looked at her with wide and beautiful ember eyes, and she smiled gently at him, feeling something inexplicable press her heart in a tight grip.

Both took no notice of the three hunters staring awkwardly to the side, rifles aimed at the downed form of the angel, until Dean stepped forwards another step, and abruptly halted in complete and utter surprise, a strangled gasp escaping his opened lips.

''Gabriel?''


	8. An unexpected addition

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Harry Potter or any of the characters, unfortunately ;)

Previous chapter:

Her magic enthusiastically sprang forwards out of her palms, lightening the hallway in a soft green light, and she pressed them onto the hurt angel's chest. Azaela studied the startled being who looked at her with wide and beautiful amber eyes, and she smiled gently at him, feeling something inexplicable press her heart in a tight grip.

Both took no notice of the three hunters staring awkwardly to the side, rifles aimed at the downed form of the angel, until Dean stepped forwards another step, and abruptly halted in complete and utter surprise, a strangled gasp escaping his opened lips.

''Gabriel?''

Chapter 8 – An unexpected addition

Dean's startled exclamation ripped through Azaela's singular focus, and it took a moment for her to realize what exactly her brother in all but blood had just implied about the man with the beautiful amber eyes laying on the ground right in front of her.

The Archangel grimaced in what she assumed was pain, before his eyes flickered to where Dean was still staring aghast at God's Messenger, his rifle lowered to the ground. An action which was mirrored by both Sam and Bobby only seconds later.

''Well, well…'' Gabriel coughed weakly, somehow managing to crack a feeble grin even in his deplorable condition, ''if it isn't my favorite duo of brothers, the Winchesters.'' The Archangel sounded exhausted, but his voice was firm and Azaela could hear the faintest traces of confusion and alarm lacing every single word.

''We thought you died, didn't Lucifer kill you?'' Sam exclaimed, eyes flickering over to the red spot on the angel's chest, dying the white shirt a deep crimson. Azaela grumbled something incoherent, as she focused even more of her magic on the remains of a deep wound, gritting her teeth as her energy was swallowed up dangerously fast.

''I don't know…'' Gabriel voiced his confusion, no trace of his usual teasing and cocky smirk on his face as he tried to comprehend what had happened. He could remember his brother's – Lucifer's – regretful expression, his pained eyes as he struck him down. He could remember, still feel that deep and striking agony as his own blade was plunged into his chest.

''I don't know…'' the Archangel repeated another time, sounding lost and confused and yet oddly hopeful.

''So you're saying you don't know what the fuck happened. We really thought you had died, man. And then we watched the video you left behind, and….'' Dean trailed off, throwing a helpless look at his younger brother.

Both of them had not liked the angel, detested him really for his misguided attempt to help, which consisted of a time-loop, increasingly more brutal deaths, and Sam's near break-down. But except for Castiel, Gabriel had been the only one of those damn holier than thou angels to actually try to help them. And that counted for something, that mattered and both brothers had felt anger at the Archangels passing, at the injustice of it all. And now that very same angel had suddenly appeared in their hallway, looking exactly like he had all those weeks ago.

''Lie still.'' Azaela commanded stiffly, as the angel tried to move from beneath her still softly glowing hands, aggravating his still weeping wound even further. Gabriel moved his gaze away from the Winchesters, locking eyes with her – amber clashing with emerald; and everything ceased to exist as both felt that something yet again which had gripped their hearts as soon as they first laid eyes on each other.

''Who…?'' Gabriel questioned softly, still not taking his eyes off her.

Azaela smiled at the injured angel; a genuine and warm smile that was usually reserved for family, as she slowly stitched the wound together with her Magic.

''Azaela Grace Peverell, pleasure to meet you, Gabriel.''

Gabriel took in the beautiful woman healing him, those beautiful emerald eyes, her ivory skin and how his name flowed off her tongue like molten honey. He was still confused, still torn between betrayal and bitterness – because once upon a time Lucifer had taught him how to sing and fly, how to spin illusions and defeat an enemy; and now his elder brother had tried to kill him with no hesitation and that hurt – and a hopeful sort of longing, because only father could have saved him, and that felt like balm for his angry soul.

He had not abandoned them – him – and something inside him eased with that revelation.

''Yeah…'' he grinned feebly, a suggestive undercurrent lacing the following words, ''It certainly is.''

Azaela barely managed to contain her laughter as the Archangel still tried to flirt with her even in such a condition. Her eyes twinkled with unsuccessfully suppressed mirth as she healed the last vestiges of his wound, leaving only tender but unblemished skin behind. The witch turned Mistress of Death wasn't even surprised by such occurrences anymore. Magic had guided her hands, and she had merely followed, guided by instincts and knowledge she could not remember having.

''I've healed your wound, you should be fine now. Just to be on the safe side, don't do anything too strenuous for the next few days, alright?'' Azaela suggested carefully, some lone beads of sweat trailing down her face as she keenly felt the absence of her usual well of power. Healing Gabriel had taken a lot out of her, especially since she had never been the best healer and using magic in such a way was unfamiliar to her.

''Thank you…'' Gabriel smiled at her, patting his healed chest in amazement. ''That was some amazing healing, didn't know that the natural born magic users had progressed quite so far.''

''I'm an exception, I guess.'' She shrugged, slightly embarrassed about the awed look in his eyes. ''I can't really be called a normal witch anymore.''

Azaela tried to ignore the pang of unease and childish discontent filling her mind, tried to avoid thinking about how she'd always wanted to be normal, because for years she had been despised and looked down upon, had been told that she was unloved by all.

She hated what the Dursley's had done to her, how they had torn apart her self-confidence like a sheen of wet paper.

If it wasn't for her father, she would have surely grown up into a very different person, meek and even more desperate for affection than she already was.

''So he's fine?'' Bobby's gruff voice interrupted Azaela's remembrance, and she saw him looking at Gabriel pointedly.

''Yes,'' she chuckled, ''He's completely healed. It took a while longer because his Grace was damaged, and not only his physical body.''

''I'm so happy that you guys were so worried about me. Really, boys, you flatter me.'' The Angel of Judgement slowly righted himself, a childish grin on his face as he snapped his fingers and a bar of chocolate promptly appeared in his hands.

Gabriel ignored the spluttering denials of the Hunters, humming in pleasure at the taste of his favorite treat gradually melting in his mouth. The Archangel had so many unanswered questions, so many thought that whirled in his mind that he was barely able to muster any of his usual attitude towards the Hunters.

Amber eyes were once again drawn to the owner of those gorgeous emerald orbs, the woman who healed him, the one he was inexplicably drawn to and the owner of what he – now that he was aware of his surroundings again – recognized to be Grace.

Why did a human, even if she was a natural born witch have Grace? Amber orbs widened in shocked disbelief when his gaze travelled down and he saw the pendant shining brightly against her – Azaela's – ivory skin, felt the achingly familiar power wash over him soothingly. A power he had not felt since ages ago, when he had last laid eyes on his father – on God.

Gabriel opened his mouth, the question of how already on the tip of his tongue when the mysterious woman shook his head, subtly telling him to stop. For some reason that he unaware of, the Archangel obeyed the silent request.

Even if every single fiber of his body was screaming at him to interrogate this little nymph of a woman and find out everything she knew about his father – because that pendant was only so very recently created by God and she had to know something at the very least.

Instead, he turned towards the Hunters, away from the mystery now plaguing his mind; and in his most charming manner, grinned at the three humans he grudgingly – very much so – respected.

''So how fare along are you?''

Miraculously Gabriel did not confront Azaela about the pendant and her presence immediately; instead she could feel his nearly ageless gaze on her form nearly constantly as they all sat in the living room. Even as Dean, Sam and Bobby explained to the still exhausted angel how they had managed to gather the rings of the four horseman; and how Azaela arrived at the salvage yard only yesterday, she still felt as if part of Gabriel's focus remained on her alone.

It made Azaela happy, because she could see the hope returning to the hunter's eyes, seeing as Gabriel was a familiar variable – an Archangel that was willing to help – and it brought back that small spark that had been missing before.

All too soon it was dark outsight, and while the three Hunters were relaxing on the couch, beer in their hands, Gabriel threw her a meaningful look that plainly stated that he wanted some answers. Azaela couldn't blame him, because how long had it been since he had last seen his creator – his father?

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Azaela nodded and stepped out of the house, her long black coat protecting her from the chilling temperature, as she slowly wandered over to a broken metallic car, sitting down on the dented cap.

''I suppose you have some questions?'' She tilted her head upwards, smiling slightly as the shine of the moon brightening the sky and reminding her of the little dimension her father had created for her.

''Yes, you could say that.'' Gabriel's voice was uncommonly serious, no trace of his joking grin or suggestive tone as he answered her silent question.

''I will try to answer your questions, although there are a few things that cannot be said by myself.'' Azaela admitted, knowing beyond any doubt that some words could not be said through another's mouth. Gabriel would have to confront his father about his actions himself.

''Have you met my father?'' Gabriel asked anxiously, mirroring her own movements as he stared at the glowing moon.

Azaela sighed, knowing that this would hurt the amber eyed angel, ''Yes, I have. Several times in fact.''

Gabriel's head snapped towards her, looking younger than he should be as he was confronted by the truth. ''How?'' The why was left unsaid, but Azaela was experienced enough to read the silent questions like a well-rehearsed story. Why her and not him? Why after so many years? Why? Why? Why?

''I met him for the first time when I was a child. Of course back then I didn't know who he was.'' The Mistress of Death mused thoughtfully, a melancholic tilt in her tone as she thought back to that day so long ago. ''He asked me a question, and told me something that made my whole life easier to bear. The next time I met him was while I was in hell. I just suddenly woke up on some field, the moon shining above me when only moments before I had been chained, body aching.''

Azalea couldn't stop a wince tightening her body, as the confused and hurt and most of all lost look returned to those amber orbs, as if he didn't know what he should be saying, doing now that he knew his father was alive and well.

''Sometimes I thought that something had happened to him. I feared it, worried for him and yet more than that I wished for it. Because no matter how useless and foolish that hope was, it was better than believing that he had abandoned us, without even saying good bye. And now suddenly that hope is gone, the beautiful illusion falling apart and nothing but the ugly truth remains.''

Gabriel choke back a sob by the time he had finished his small rant, tears of frustration threatening to flow down his pinched face, and Azaela could do nothing more than be there – a silent support.  
She could barely understand the conflict between relief and bitterness warring inside of him, her being angry about Remus absence during her first few years of her life could hardly be compared to the aching loneliness the Archangel had experienced during the last millennia.

''He loves his children.'' Azaela tried to insert as much certainty into those words as he could, and by the small wobbly grin Gabriel threw her, God's Messenger at least appreciated her efforts, but she knew that it was not her place to interfere.

And that made her angry – frustrated her – because somehow Gabriel was important to her even if she didn't know why or how. She wanted to see Gabriel happy, to watch as his wide grin brightened the room and his wings shone with unrepressed joy.

Shaking herself out of those thoughts, she could barely react as she felt Gabriel push back a strand of her unruly raven hair. ''I wonder sometimes, but I can understand that he would approach you, help you when he normally remains apart from all. Your soul is beautiful.''

''So are your wings.'' Azaela blurted back, trying to hide her blush as his eyes widened in surprise. A teasing grin spread over his face only moments later, as Gabriel registered those words. ''Well, well full of surprise aren't you? I have never met a mortal that could see my wings and do so without any repercussions but then again…'' his eyes flickered to pendant hanging around her neck. ''…then again, there has to be a reason why God favors you.''

''Death also.'' Azaela inserted quietly, not knowing why she had told him that information, but feeling better for it all the same. The Mistress of Death raised her right hand, showing Gabriel Death's – her grandfather's, and that still sounded so damn surreal – ring.

''Okay…'' the Archangel peered at the Horseman's ring with no small amount of bewilderment, as he tried to sort his frazzled mind. Somehow this woman had managed to tilt his whole world in only a few hours. If he wasn't so completely frustrated, he would have appreciated the hilarity of it all. ''So not only God, but also Death…. Congratulation?'' Gabriel offered weakly.

''I am just confused. Both are being terribly cryptic, and I know why I have a connection to Death now, but I could recognize his presence from when I felt it comforting me when I was a child, which makes no sense – at all. And don't even get me started on your father…'' Azaela ranted at Gabriel, feeling that more than the hunters, maybe the Archangel could understand the deities actions.

''Sorry, sweetie. I have absolutely no idea. I don't think there's a precedent for something like this. As the creator of life and the one who is the end of it, they normally don't even take interest in the same things.'' Gabriel explained awkwardly, feeling a little bad at the dejected look on the witch's face. ''I'll keep my ears and eyes open though, alright?''

''Thanks, Gabriel.'' Azaela yawned, as she realized how tired she was, exhaustion finally catching up with her. It was still only the second day out of hell, and her body and mind were still burdened by those decades in such a place. Healing Gabriel hadn't helped matters either.

''Sleep, Aza. It took a lot of you to fix me up, and woman need their beauty sleep, right?'' Gabriel teased her, and Azaela reluctantly restrained herself from smacking him.

''Yeah, yeah, feathers. And you definitely need to come here every so often, alright? I'm your doctor after all.'' Azaela grinned at the Angel, who only looked momentarily stunned before he covered up that expression with his by now familiar suggestive tilt of his lips.

''Will you be wearing a uniform, Aza?'' The Archangel waggled his eyebrows comically, and she chuckled deeply at the ridiculousness of the who situation.

''No, feathers. See you tomorrow!'' Azaela jumped off the car, waving at the still form of the Angel before she slowly walked back into the house, only shouting a quick night to the three hunters before she shuffled up the stairs and quickly entered the room she had commandeered yesterday.

As she closed her eyes, a small smile was gracing her lips as amber eyes and beautiful wings flashed through her mind, before she finally knew no more.

''What do you mean she isn't here anymore?''

A thunderous voice boomed through the vast space, causing many of the weaker figures to scramble back in panic.

''M…m-my lord. We don't know. She just suddenly disappeared.'' One of the braver, or more foolish forms exclaimed, shrinking back as the glare of the being was now focused on him.

''Disappeared, you say… No one just disappears from hell…. You incompetent fools.'' The figure paced back and forth, seemingly ignoring the other – weaker – demons as they still flitted around him.

''Find her. Now!''

The black eyes of the demons were daring the lower ones to disobey, as a fist was clenched tightly in frustration. He should have realized sooner that she was a loose end, but he had been so sure that nothing could get her out of there. And now he had to pay the prized for his loose tongue and utterly foolish behavior.

Azaela Grace Potter-Black was a liability.

One that had to be destroyed or he could lose everything – and he would do everything in his power to prevent that.

He would rise to the top – and nothing would stand in his way.

That was his way of life after all.


End file.
